Traditions and hearthside stories of West Cornwall:

THE LIBRARY
OF

THE UNIVERSITY

OF CALIFORNIA

LOS ANGELES

7

TRADITIONS

HEARTHSIDE STORIES

OF

WEST CORNWALL.

BY

WILLIAM BOTTEELL.

" Legends that once were told or sung
In many a smoky fireside nook."

LONGFELLOW.

\Vith Illustrations by Mr. Joseph Blight.

SECOND SERIES.

ftcujtuuc :

PRINTED, FOR THE AUTHOR, BY BEARE AJTD S
1873.

(Eight of Translation reserved.)

Of strange tradition many a mystic trace,
Legend and vision, prophecy and sign."

SCOTT.

IH2,

ONTENTS.

PAGE

Duffy and the Devil (an old Christmas Play) 1

Celtic Monuments of Boleigh and Rosemodrass 27

The last Cardews of Boskenna and the story of Nelly Wearne 38

The Witch of Buryan Church-town 59

Madam Noy and the Witch 63

A Queen's visit to Baranhuel 67

The Small People's Cow (a fairy tale) 73

Tom of Chj'annor, the tin-streamer (a West Country droll) 77

The Fairy Dwelling on Selena Moor 94

The Pan's House of Treen 103

Castle Treen and its Legends 1 30

Traditions of Parcurnow 140

Legends of St. Levan 145

A Legend of Pargwarra 149

An' Pee Tregeer's trip to market on Hallan Eve (a fairy tale) 154

An Overseer and a Parish Clerk of St. Just, sixty years ago 169

The Fairy Master, or Bob o' the Carn 1 73

A Tinner's fireside stories. — The Knockers of Ballowal. ... 185

Old Songs and Nicknames 193

The Changeling of Brea-Yean (fairy tale) 199

Betty Stoggs's Baby (fairy tale) 205

How a Morvah man bought clothes for his wife 207

How a Zennor man choked himself, but had his will in his

pocket 210

The Smugglers of Penrose 212

Tregagle at Gwenvor Cove 224

West Country Superstitions. — Devil's Money 227

The Slighted Damsel of Gwinear 229

The Wreck of Admiral Sir Cloudesley Shovel 231

A Night's Ride to Scilly 233

Ancient Bridal Customs - 237

Ancient Rites at Madron Well 239

The Crick-stone, or Men-an-tol 242

Charms 243

The Fairy Tribes 245

The Pirate Wrecker and the Death-Ship 247

The sun never shines on those who have sworn away a life 249

A Legend of Pengersec 251

912307

IV. CONTENTS.

Notes, Illustrative Anecdotes, &c. — Miracle Plays 268

The Levelis, or Lovells, of Trewoof 271

Duffy and the Devil 273

Pendrea and Baranhuel 274

Danes Marauding on the Cornish Coast, and King Olaf's

Conversion at Scilly 274

St. Levan's Path 277

A Ghostly Ship's-BeU 277

Brea and Pendeen 278

Vellan-Dreath 279

The Men-an-Tol 280

The Garrack-zans 283

Divination by Eushes and Ivy-leaves 283

Recent Ill-wishing 284

Midsummer Bonfires 287

The Mermaid of Zennor 288

Glossary of Living Cornish Words and Local Terms 290

Index .> 293

Subscribers' Names . .296

Pagt 144.

STORIES AND TRADITIONS OF PENWITH.

DUFFY AND THE DEVIL.

AN OLD CHRISTMAS PLAY.

Part First.

Open your doors, and let me in,
I hope your favours I shall win ;
Whether I rise, or whether I fall,
I'll do my best to please you all.

Chrittmas Play of St. George and the Dragon.

SSOCIATED with. Trove and the ancient family who
lived, for many generations, in that pleasant place,
there is a tradition that one old Squire Lovell wedded
a poor girl solely because he believed her to be the
best spinster and knitster in Buryan ; but that all
the fine stockings and other knitted garments with which she
provided her husband were made by a devil. This droll formed
the subject of an old Guise-dance (Christmas Play) which is all
but forgotten : ^yet, in our youth, we have heard a few scenes
rehearsed, which may be interesting as an example of a primitive
drama of "West Penwith, that may have succeeded, or been con-
temporary with, the miracle plays which, about three centuries
ago, were acted in the Plan-an-gwarre, St. Just, and at the
Church-town cross in most other western parishes. This uncouth
piece shows something of the rude and simple humour of old
times, when people were quite as innocent, though less fastidious,
than in our days.

Great part of the dialogue appears to have been improvised, as
the actor's fancy dictated. Yet there were some portions in rude

2 DUFFY, AM) THE DEVIL.

verse, which would seem to have been handed down with little
variation. Mimical gesticulation expressed much of the story ;
and when there was unwonted delay in change of scene, or any
hitch in acting, in came the hobby-horse and its licenced rider, to
keep the mirth from nagging. This saucy jester being privileged
to say whatever he pleased, kept the audience in good humour by
filling up such intervals with burlesque speeches on any matters
which had taken place during the past year, that furnished fit
subjects for ridicule.

A hall, farmhouse-kitchen, barn, or other out-house, served
for a theatre, and a winnowing-sheet, suspended from key -beams
or rafters, made a drop-curtain. Father Christmas, as chorus,
described the scene, and told the company what characters the
actors represented, unless they introduced themselves, as was
frequently the case, like St. George, saying, "Here comes I, a
champion bold," &c. He also narrated such parts as could not
be acted conveniently.

Our simple actors got up their dresses in as old-fashioned and
smart a style as they were able to contrive them, by begging or
borrowing cast-off finery from the gentry round. Male players
were often seen rigged in long-waisted, gay-coloured coats,
having their skirts spread out with straw, instead of buckram
or bombast, and resplendent with brass or tin buttons, large as
crown pieces, and long ruffles at their breasts and wrists ; their
breeches were of blue, red, or buff, slashed, puffed, and tricked
out with ribbons, tassels, and knee-buckles. Their hose was of
any bright hue, to make a strong contrast to the small clothes.
High-heeled shoes were adorned with shining buckles or bows of
ribbons. Yet their greatest pride was displayed in steeple-
crowned or cocked hats, surmounted with plumes and decked
with streamers of gay ribbons.

Our rural actresses also wore steeple-crowns fixed high above
their heads on pads; stiffen-bodied, long-waisted gowns, with
bag skirts or long trains ; ruffles hanging from their elbows,
wide stiff ruffs round their necks ; and any other remnants of
old finery that they could contrive to get.

It is somewhat curious that in this old guise-dance, or story
about Madame Lovell and the devil, several ladies belonging to
noted families who lived in Buryan, two or three centuries ago,
are represented as bringing their corn to Trove Mill to be ground
and as serging (bolting) their flour themselves. The names of
Mesdames Cardew, Fender, Noy, Trezilian, &c., are taken by
these ladies, whose gossip forms a kind of by-play.

"We now purpose to reproduce a few well-remembered scenes,
as we have heard them related many years ago, by old folks of
Buryan, and to simply tell the story as expressed by others. Yet,

AN JEX>T CHYGWET. 3

with a feeling somewhat akin to regret, we have curtailed some
portions, in order to exclude whatever might, now, be regarded
as indelicate : there is sufficient, however, preserved to carry on
the story as far as it is likely to interest or amuse any but anti-
quarian students who might prefer, with all its blemishes, an
unmutilated picture of such "merrie disports" as were usual at
Christmas-tide with our simple-honest forefathers.

©barscters : —

SQUIRE LOVELL, of Trove.
DVFFY, a poor girl, who became

Madame Lovell.
UUEY LENINE, Duffy's loner.

JENNY CHYGWDT, Duffy's step-
mother.

A BUCKA-BOO, OR DEVIL.
BETTY, the witch of Trove Mill.

JOXE, Squire Lovell' s housekeeper.
Several ladies and gentlemen, and witches.

SCEXE i. — Father Christmas, with long hoary hair and beard
enters before the curtain, and says: — "Ladies and gentlemen, —
Please to take it that we are in Buryan Church-town, in the
cider-making time. Squire Lovell is come up to get help to
gather in his apples. When the curtain rises you will see him
at Jenny Chyg win's door."

Curtain raised. Squire Lovell is seen on his horse (a hobby
horse) ; an old woman and a young woman scolding within.

SQTJIKE : — Hullo ! in there ! Jenny, what's all the caperrouse
with you and the maid, I'd like to know?"

DUFFY rushes out, and round the stage, followed by old Jenny,
her stepmother, who beats the girl with the skirt or kirtle of her
gown, saying, "I will break every bone in her body; the lazy
hussy is all the time out courseying, and corantan, with the boys.
She will neither boil the porridge, knit nor spin."

DUFFY runs to the Squire, saying "Don't e believe her, your
honour. I do all the work, whilst she is drunk from morning
till night, and my spinning and knitting is the best in Church-town.
Your stockings are nothing so fine as I can make."

SQUIRE: — "Stop beating the maid, Jenny, and choaking one
with dust from the skirt of thy old swing-tail gown. And, Duffy,
as thou canst spin and knit so well, come down to Trove and help
my old Jone, who is blind on one eye and can't see much with the
other, as any one may know by looking at the bad darns in my
stocking and patches on my breeches. Come away, on to the
heaping-stock. Jump up : you can ride down behind me without
pillion or pad."

Squire rides off: Duffy follows.

JEX>~Y: — "Aye, go thee ways with the old bucca, and good
riddance of bad rummage."

/ Curtain drops.}

4 DUFFY, AXD THE DEVIL.

SCE>~E ii. AT SQUIRE LOVELL'S DOOR. — SQUIRE ON HORSEBACK :
DUFFY STAN-DING BESIDE HIM.

SQUIRE calls : — " Jone, come here and take in Duffy Chygwin,
who is come down to help thee knit and spin, give her some
bread and cheese, and beer : dost thou hear ? "

Squire rides off.

JONE comes out, and says: — "Oh, Duffy, my dear, I am glad
to see thee here, for I want help sorely ever since that villain, Tom
Chynance, put out the sight of my eye because I seed his thievish
tricks in stealing from the standings one night in Penzance."

JOXE tells us a long story which we omit, as it can be found in
the first series of Traditions and Hearth-side Stories of West Corn-
wall* She concludes by saying, "Now you needn't eat any
bread and cheese, as dinnner will be ready soon. You can go up
to the loft whenever you please and card wool to spin in the
afternoon."

SCENE in. — A room in which are seen fleeces of wool, a turn
(spinning-wheel) and other appliances for spinning. Duffy seated,
carding and making rolls of wool, which were placed in a cayer
(winnowing seive.) Over a while she rises and exclaims : —

" Cuss the carding and spinning ! AVhat the devil shall I do
now the wool is carded, for I can neither spin nor knit, and the
devil take such work for me."

From behind some wool comes a devil, in the shape of a black
man, with half-cocked, squinting eyes, and the barbed or forked
tip of his tail just seen below his coat skirts.

DEVIL : — " My dear, here I am, come at your call, ready to do
all you wish for veiy little pay. Only agree to go with me at the
end of three long years, and for all that time I'll do your spinning
and knitting and everything else you wish for, and even then, if
you can tell me my name at three times asking, you may go or
stay, till another time."

DUFFY : — "Well, I don't mind much : anything for a change.
AVhat ded'e say you were called ? "

DEVIL, winking : — " You have only to prick your arm and draw
blood to sign our agreement you know."

DUFFY : — My word is as good as my mark. Spin and knit for
me if you will; and I'll have, that while, a courant in the
orchard and a dance at the mill."

In leaving, DUFFY says : — " Bolt the door, that no one may see
who is doing the work."

"Stop and let me take the measure of your foot," says the
devil, " in stringing the wheel as handy as if he had been used
to spinning all his life."

FATHER CHRISTMAS comes before the curtain and says : — ' ' Good
* One-eyed Joan's Talc, p. 213.

A DEVIL SPINNING. 5

people, you see that Duffy wans't at all scared at the Bucca-boo's
appearance, because in old times people were so much used to
dealings with the devil — women especially — that they didn't mind
him. Duffy is now gone off by the outer door and stair, to merrily
pass the day ; and old Jone, hearing a rumble all through the
house, thinks her to be busy at work."

Duffy passes a great part of her time at Trove Mill, near at
hand ; where a crowd of women high and low, meet to take their
turn at grinding, serging, &c. Whilst some work others tell
stories, sing, or dance on the green, near which grew many old
oaks, sycamores, and elms, in a place still called the rookery, a
little above.

There was a great friendship between Duffy and Old Betty, who
worked the mill, because this old dame, having long had strange
dealings, saw at once, by a stocking Duffy pretended to be knitting,
that a stitch was always down and that the work was none of
hers.

In the evening, Duffy hearing, when she came in, the devil still
spinning, thought she would see him at work and try to learn
something. Looking through the latch-hole she saw what she
took to be a woman, seated, and spinning with a small treddle-
turn such as is used for spinning thread, and the wool-turn (with
a wheel as large as that of a coach) put aside. When she looked
around she knew that it was only the devil dressed in clothes like
what she wore. He had on a loose bed-gown, petticoat, and
towser (large coarse apron or wrapper,) with a nackan (large
'kerchief) thrown loosely over his head and shoulders. As Duffy
entered, he turned around and said, "How are'e, my dear ? Here
I am, you see, busy at work for'e. See what I've already spun,"
he continued, pointing to a heap of balls in the corner, and skeins
of yarn hanging on the walls.

She stood wondering, with eyes and mouth wide open, to see
how handy the devil spun, and yet seemed to do nothing with his
hands but pull off the yarn whilst his foot worked the treddle, and
a ball dancing on the floor wound up itself!

"Arreah! faix," said Duffy, "I should have taken 'e for a
woman if I hadn't chanced to spy your cloven foot, and your tail
hanging down, and I don't much admire 'e in petticoats."

" There's good reason for wearing them, however," replied he ;
" besides, they are handy for such work, and if you will come
here on Saturday night you will find, under that black fleece,
ever so many pairs of stockings, both for you and the squire. I
know his measure, and see if I don't well fit both of ye. So now
good night."

Before she could wish him the same he disappeared, and all the
yarn of his spinning along with him, leaving nothing to show

6 DUFFY, AJs*D THE DETH/.

that he had ever been there but a strong smell of brimstone.

Duffy didn't wait till dark night on Saturday, but went up to
the wool-chamber about sunset. The Bucca-boo had just left
work, and, having thrown off his petticoats, stood before her
dressed like a sporting gentleman. He bowed as she entered and,
handing her half-a-dozen pairs of stockings, all as strong as
broadcloth and as fine as silk, said, " Excuse me, my dear, from
staying a moment longer, as I must be away before Buryan bells
are rung ; else, some mishap may befall me."

"I wish 'e well till I see 'e again, and thank 'e, Mr. What-
shall-I-call-'e," said Duffy, taking the stockings from his hand.

" You may call me captain," he replied, and vanished in a flash
of lightning with a roar of thunder that shook the house.

On Sunday morning, when Squire Lovell was getting ready to
don his velvet suit, that he might ride to church in grand state,
as was his wont, Duffy brought him a pair of stockings
suitable for the occasion.

"You see, master," said she, "that I havn't been idle, to spin
and knit ye a pair of such long stockings in three days and the
work so fine too." He put on the stockings, admired the beautiful
knitting and good fit ; then to show his delight at having such
nice hose, the like of which were never on his legs before, he
kissed Duffy again and again.

It was late when he reached Church-town. After churching, he
stopped, as usual, to exchange greetings with other gentry of
Buryan. Everyone admired his fine stockings. The ladies enquired
how and where he procured them, saying there was no one in the
parish who could do such good work ; one and all declared they
were fit for a king.

The fame of Squire Lovell' s stockings drew crowds of people to
Buryan church on the following Sunday. Old and young wanted
to feel his legs. They couldn't be satisfied with looking, and so
they continued to come from farther and farther, Sunday after
Sunday. Church-town, for some weeks, was full of people like on
a fair or feasten tide.

[It will be understood that great part of the foregoing, as well
as the narrative parts of what follows, is related by Father
Christmas, in his character of Chorus. He enters into details
about the devil's wonderful spinning with a turn (spinning-wheel)
of his own invention, that took wool from the fleece, without
carding, and passed it into the spinster's hands all ready for
knitting or weaving. He also related many other surprising
exploits of these sable gentry, such as their church-building in
out-of-the-way places, like that of St. Levan, of their amiable
intercourse with witches, &c. Thus, as fancy dictated, he
entertained his audience until the curtain rose.]

HTIEY LENIXE'S COURTSHIP. 7

We next "behold Squire Lovell's kitchen, with Jone, rather the
worse for liquor, on a chimney-stool or bench in a broad and
deep fire-place, such as used to be found in every West-country
mansion, when wood and turf were the only fuel. She makes
awful groans and screeches, till Duffy enters. Then Jone says
" Oh Duffy, you can't think what cramps I have in my stomach
and wind in my head, that's making it quite light. Help me
over stairs to bed, and you wait up to give master his supper."

The old housekeeper is led off by Duffy, who soon returns and
seats herself on the chimney-stool.

Then Huey Lenine enters and says : — " What cheer, Duffy,
my dear ? Now thee cus'nt (can'st not) say that the lanes are
longer than the love, when I'm come to see thee with this rainy
weather."

" Joy of my heart," said she, " come by the fire and dry thy-
self."

Huey sits on the outer end of the chimney-stool. After a long
silence, the following dialogue takes place : —

DUFFY : — " AVhy dos'nt thee speak to me than, Huey ? "

HUEY :— " What shall I say than ? "

DUFFY : — " Say thee dos't love me, to be sure."

HUEY :— " So I do."

DUFFY: — "That's a dear. — Brave pretty waistcoat on to you,
than, Huey."

HUEY : — " Cost pretty money too."

DUFFY :— " What ded a cost than ?"

HUEY : — " Two and twenty pence, buttons and all."

DUFFY : — " Take care of an than."

HUEY :— " So I will."

DUFFY :— " That's a dear."

Another prolonged silence.

HUEY continues : — " I'm thinkan we will get married next
turfey season if thee west (thou wilt.")

DUFFY : — " Why doesn't thee sit a little nearer than ?"

HUEY : — " Near enough I bla (believe.")

DUFFY : — " Nearer the fire, I mean. Well, I'll be married to
thee any day, though thee art no beauty, to be sure."

Huey gets a little nearer.

DUFFY, putting her hand on his face, " Thy face is as rough as
Morvah Downs, that was ploughed and never harved (harrowed)
they say ; but I'll have thee for all that and fill up with putty all
the pock-mark pits and seams ; then paint them over and make
thee as pretty as a new wheelbarrow."

The squire is heard outside calling his dogs. Duffy starts up
in a fright, seizes a furze-prong, and says, " Master will be here
in a minute, jump into the huccarner (wood-corner) and I'll cover

8 DUFFY, AJfD THE DEVIL.

thee up -with the furze."

Huey hesitates.

DUFFY : — " Then crawl into the oven : a little more baking
make thee no worse."

Huey gets into an oven, opening on to the fire-place and behind
the chimney-stool, just as the Squire enters and calls out,

" Joan, take up the pie, if its ready or raw. I'm as hungry as
a hound."

DUFFY, rising to uncover a pie that was baking on the hearth,
says, " Master, I have staid up to give ye your supper, because
An Joan es gone to bed very bad with a cramp in her stomach
and wind in her head, so she said."

" Why I heard thee talking when I came to the door, who was
here then ?" demanded the Squire.

" Only a great owl, master dear," she replied, " that fell down
from the ivy-bush growing over the chimney and perched hisself
there on the stool, with his great goggle eyes, and stood staring
at me and blinkan like a fool. Then he cried Hoo ! hoo ! Tu-wit,
tu-woo ; and, when you opened the door, he flew up the chimney
the same way he came down."

The Squire, satisfied with Duffy's explanation, advances, and
puts his foot on the hearth-stone, looks at his legs, saying,
" Duffy, my dear, these are the very best stockings I ever had in
my life. I've been hunting all day, over moors and downs,
through furze and thorns, among brambles and bogs, in the
worst of weather, yet there isn't a scratch on my legs and they
are as dry as if bound up in leather."

The Devil (supposed to be invisible) rises behind Duffy and
grimaces at the Squire.

DUFFY : — " I may as well tell 'e master that I shan't knit much
more for 'e, because Huey Lenine and I have been courtan for a
long time. We are thinkan to get married before winter, and
then I shall have a man of my own to work for."

SQUIRE : — " What ! Huey Lenine ! I'll break every bone in his
carcase if he shows his face near the place. Why the devil is in
it that a young skit like thee should have it in thy head to get
married ! Now I'll sit down a minute and talk reason with thee."

[The Squire sits close beside Duffy. The Devil tickles them
with his tail. Huey is seen peeping from the oven.]

SQUIKE : — " Give up thy courting with Huey Lenine,
And I'll dress thee in silks and satins fine."

DUFFY : — " No I'll never have an old man, an old man like

you,

Though you are Squire Lovell :
To my sweetheart I'll be constant and true,
Though he work all day with threshal and shovel."

SQUIRE LOVELL'S COURTSHIP. 9

The Devil tickles the Squire behind the ears. He sits nearer
and places his arm round her waist.

SQUIKE : — " Thou shalt have a silk gown all broidet'd in. gold,
Jewels and rings, with such other fine things

In the old oak chest, as thce did'st never behold."
DUFFY : — " My sweetheart is young, lively, and strong,

With cheeks like a red rose ;
But your time will not be long : — •

You have very few teeth, and a blue-topped nose.
So keep your silks and keep your gold,
I'll never have a man so feeble and old."

Here the Devil tickles them Loth. The Squire hugs and
kisses Duffy, who makes less and less resistance.

SQUIRE : — You shan't find me feeble, though I'm near sixty ;
I'm stronger still than many a man of twenty.

DUFFY : — " Your only son is now far away.

If he came home and found ye wed,
What think ye he would say ? "

SQUIHE : — " I hope he is already dead,

Or'll be kill'd in the wars some day,

If alive he shan't enter my door,

I'll give thee my land, with all my store,

Thou shalt ride to church behind me upon

a new pavillion,
Smarter than Dame Pendar or Madam Trezillian."

DUFFY : — " Dear master, hold your flattering tongue,

Nor think to deceive one so simple and young ;
For I'm a poor maid, lowly born and bred ;

With one so humble you could never wed.
Keep your distance, and none of your hugging ;

You shall kiss me no more till you take me to church.
I'll never cry at Christmas for April fooling

Like a poor maid left in the lurch.
Look ! the sand is all down and the pie burned black,
With the crust too hard for your colt's-teeth to crack :
So off to the hall and take your supper."

Duffy rises, takes xip from the hearth a pie, which had been
baking there, goes out with it, followed by the Squire and Devil
dancing. Huey crawls from the oven, saying " Lack a day who
can tell, now, what to make of a she-thing ? " By the time he
gets on his legs Duffy returns, and, assisted by the devil pushes
him to doors, saying,

" Now betake thyself outside the door,

Nor show thy black face here any more ;
Don't think I would wed a poor piljack like thee,
When I may have a Squire of high degree."

Duffy and the Devil dance till the Squire returns and joins in a
three-handed reel, without seeing the Old One, who capers back
into a dark corner at the pass of the dance, and comes close behind
him at the pitch. Curtain drops. — Thunder and lightning.

10 DUFFY, AND THE DEVIL.

The scene changes to Trove Mill, where a long gossip takes
place over the new " nine days' wonder" of Squire Lovell having
wedded Duffy for the sake of her knitting. Some say she will
behave like most beggars put on horseback, and all the women
agreed that they would rather be a young man's slave, and work
their fingers to stumps, than be doomed to pass a weary time
beside such an old withered stock ; they should wish him dead
and no help for it.

In the next, Duffy (now Madame Lovell) is beheld walking up
and down her garden, or hall, decked out in a gown with a long
train, hanging ruffles at her elbows, ruff of monstrous size
round her neck, towering head-dress, high-heeled shoes, with
bright buckles, earrings, necklace, fan, and all other accessories of
old-fashioned finery. The bucca-boo is seen grinning, half-hidden,
in the corner ; whilst Madam walks she sings : —

" Now I have servants to come at my call,
As I walk in grand state through my hall,
Decked in silks and satins so fine :

But I grieve through the day,

And fret the long night away,
Thinking of my true-love, young Huey Lenine.

I weep through many a weary long hour,
As I sit all alone in my bower,
Where I do nothing but pine ;

"Whilst I grieve all the day,

And fret the long nights away,
In dreaming of my true-love, young Huey Lenine.

Would the devil but come at my call,

And take the old Squire —silks, satins, and all,

With jewels and rings so fine ;

Then, merry and gay, I'd work through the day,

And cheerily pass the nights awav,
Kissing my true-love, young Huey Lenine."

DUFFY AND THE DEVIL.

Part Second.

11 Refinement, too, that smoothens all
O'er which it in the world hath pass'd,

Has been extended in its call,
And reach'd the devil, too, at last.

That Northern Phantom found no more can be,
Horns, tail, and claws, we now no longer see.
»*•**•
But with your like, when we the name can learn,

Your nature too we commonly discern."

GOETHE'S Faust.

Filimore's Translation.

JK-N a mill scene, after the Squire's marriage, there is a long
jf~) dialogue, in rhyme, on "the cruel miseries to be endured"
by both husband and wife, "when a young maid is wedded
to an old man." This can not be given because much of
it would now be regarded as indelicate.
In another scene, the Squire's man Jack, and Huey Lenine,
discuss the same subject. This is also inadmissible for the 'same
reason. We are reluctant to dismember this old piece, even by
so much as may be deemed necessary by persons of fastidious
taste, because students^of ancient manners would doubtless pre-
fer an unpruned version.

We shall give the remainder of the story as it may be gathered
from the play, without dividing it into scenes. And indeed great
part of it, for want of convenience in acting, was often recited by
Father Christmas, in his character of Chorus. We also omit the
mill scenes, as they afforded a kind of by-play, that had little or
nothing to do with the main story. Whenever time was required
for the principle personages to get ready, a bevy of women were
brought on to gossip about old times and the past year's events,
or they told stories, danced, or sung until their turn came to
" serge their flow," (bolt their meal.)

Duffy complaind to the kind old witch that she was very
dissatisfied with her aged spouse. The old crone advised her to

12 DT^TY, AXD THE DEVIL.

have patience and well feather her nest, that she might secure a
youthful successor to Squire Lovell, who was'nt likely to trouble
her long. Notwithstanding Madam's griefs, she kept the Bucca-
boo to his work, so that all her chests and presses were filled with
stockings, blankets, yarn and home-spun cloth; and her husband
was clad, from top to toe, in devil-made garments. Squire Lovell,
as was his wont, being away hunting every week-day, from dawn
till dark, and the housekeeper and other servants hearing a
constant rumbling throughout the house like the noise of a
spinning-wheel, only varied by the clicking of cards, thought
their mistress busy at work, when she spent great part of her
time at the mill.

The stocking that Duffy made out to be knitting, but never
finished, had always a stitch down. By that old Betty suspected
her of having strange dealings as well as herself.

Though the time seemed long and wearisome to Madam, the
term for which the devil engaged to serve her drew near its end :
yet she was ignorant as ever of his true name, and gave herself
but little concern on that account, thinking it might be just as
well to go with a devil, who was so very obliging, as to remain
with old Squire Lovell; for all the time this Bucca-boo became, as
it were, her slave, he was well-behaved and never gave her the
least reason to complain of his conduct.

Yet when she walked through Trove orchards, and saw the
apple-trees weighed down with ripe fruit, she had some mis-
givings, lest her next abode might be less pleasant than Trove,
besides, she thought that the devil, like most men, might be very
civil in courtship but behave himself quite otherwise when he
had her in his power.

Madam being much perplexed made her troubles known to
Betty, the witch, who, cunning woman as she was, had'nt
found out the particulars of the bargain. She was'nt much
surprised, however, when Duffy told her, because she knew
that women and devils were capable of doing extraordinary
things. Betty was somewhat troubled, but not much ; for in old
times, white-witches could perform almost incredible feats, by
having devils and other spirits under their command. So,
after twirling her thumbs a minute, and thinking what to do,
she said, " Duffy, my dear, cheer up! I would'nt like for 'e to be
taken away before me. Now do what I advise 'e, and it is much
to me if we don't find 'e a way to fool this young devil yet, he is
but a green one. So, to-morrow evening, soon after sunset,
bring me down a black jack of your oldest and strongest beer.
But before that, be sure you get the Squire to go hare-hunting.
Fool him with the old story, or any thing else to make him go.
Wait up till he comes back, and note well what he may say. Go

COAXING. 13

'e home now: ask me no questions; but mind and do what I have
told 'e ! "

Next morning, the Squire noticed that his wife ate no break-
fast, and, at dinner, observing that she seemed very sour and sad,
and appeared to loath everything on the board, he said,

" My dear wife, how is it that you have been so melancholy of
late ? What is the matter with 'e ? Don't I do as much to
comfort 'e as any man can ? If there's anything to be had, for
love or money, you shall have it. You don't appear to have
much appetite, honey ; what would 'e like to eat ? "

" I could just pick the head of a hare, if I had it," she
replied ; " I am longing for hare-pie ; but you have been so
busy about the harvest that we havn't had one for weeks, and
I'm feeling so queer that have one I must or the consequences
will be awful to the babe unborn, and to you as well."

" You know dear," said the Squire, " that harvest is late. We
have still much corn to get into the mowhay. Besides, it's full
time that all should be ready for cider-making. I would do my
best to catch a hare if that would please ye," he continued,
over a bit ; " but dont 'e think that the old story about the child,
that according to your fancy has been coming to and again for the
last three years, is ever going to fool me to the neglect of corn
and apples."

" Hard-hearted, unbelieving wretch," replied she, "you don't
deserve to be the father of my child. Know, to your shame,
that innocent virgins, when first wedded are often deceived with
false hopes. Now would 'e have our cheeld disfigured for the
sake of such little good as you are among the harvest people ?
An old man's bantling," she contimied, " is mostly a wisht and
wizened-looking object ! Would 'e like to see ours with a face
like a hare besides an ugly nose, and a mouth from ear to ear ?
Go, do, like a dear, and stay my longing ; but in the evening,
after croust (afternoon refreshment), will be time enow for 'e to
start, that we may have one for dinner to-morrow."

With coaxing, scolding, and hopes of paternal joys, she, at
length prevailed.

Soon after the Squire and his dogs were out of sight, Duffy
drew about a gallon of beer, that was many years oldr into a
strong leather jack, made small at the mouth like a jar, for
convenience in carrying, and took it down to the mill. Betty,
after trying the liquor, said it would do, and told Duffy to go
home, make the devil work till dark, wait up for her husband,
and keep her ears open to all he might say. When nearly dark
and a few stars glimmered, Betty turned the water from the
mill-wheel and closed the flushet. Then, having donned her
steeple-crowned hat and red cloak, she fastened the jack of beer

c

14 DUFFY, AND THE DEVIL.

to one end of a " giss " (hempen girth), and her " crowd " to
the other, slung them across her shoulder, under her cloak, took
a black-thorn stick, closed her door, and away she went over the
hill. She went up the "Bottom" (glen) between Trove and
Boleigh, till she passed the Fuggo Hole, and there, amongst the
thickets, she disappeared ! All this Bottom was well- wooded,
and the upper part thickly covered with hazel, thorn, and elder ;
and a tangled undergrowth of briars, brambles, and furze,
surrounded a wood called the Grambler Grove. Few persons
liked to pass near this place, because strange noises were heard,
and fires often seen within it by night, when no one would
venture near the place.

Duffy waited up many hours after the servants had gone to
bed, in great impatience for her husband's return. Her fears
and doubts increasing, she remained seated in the kitchen
chimney-corner, attending to a pie on the hearth ; that it might
be kept hot for the Squire's supper. It came into her head at
times, as a kind of forlorn hope, that the crafty old witch might
somehow get the Devil to take her husband instead of herself.
About midnight, however, her uneasy musings were interrupted
by the dogs rushing in, followed by Squire Lovell, who seemed
like one distracted, by the way he capered about and talked in
broken sentences, of which his wife could make neither head nor
tail. Sometimes he would caper round the kitchen, singing
snatches of a strange dancing-tune ; then stop, try to recollect
the rest, and dance till tired out. At last the Squire sat down
and told his wife to bring him a flagon of cider. After draining
it, he became more tranquil, and, when Duffy asked if he had
caught a hare, he answered,

" I've seen queer sights to-night, and the damn'd hare — as
fine a one as ever was chased — most in the dogs' mouths all the
while. We coursed her for miles, yet they couldn't catch her at
all." Then he burst out singing,

" To-morrow, my fair lady,

You shall ride along with, me,

Over land and over sea,
Through the air and far away ! "

0 ! the funny devil ! How he tossed up his heels and tail
when he danced and sang,

" ' To strange countries you shall go,
For never here can you know.'

" I've forgotten the rest," said he, after a pause ; " but give me
supper, and fill the tankard again. Then I will begin at the
beginning, and tell 'e all about the strange things I've seen
to-night. I wish you had been there ; it would have made ye

THE SQUIRE'S CHASE. 15

laugh, though I havn't seen 'e so much as smile for a long time.
But give me supper, I tell thee again, and don't stay gaping at
me like a fool frightened ! Then, and not before, I'll tell thee
all about our uncommon chase, and we will ride ' Over land, and
over sea, with the jolly devil, far away, far away ! ' '
Duffy placed a pie on the board and helped the Squire.
After supper he came more to himself, and said,
" We hunted all the way down, both sides of the Bottom,
from Trove to Lamorna without seeing a hare. It was then
dark, but for the starlight : we turned to come home, and, up by
Bosava, out popped a hare, from a brake of ferns close beside
the water. She (the hare) took up the moors ; we followed close
after, through bogs, furze, and brambles, helter-skelter, amongst
mire and water. For miles we chased her — the finest hare that
ever was seen, most in the dogs' mouths all the way, yet they
couldn't catch her at all. By the starlight we had her in sight
all the way till far up the Bottom, between Trove and Boleigh ;
there we lost all sight and scent of her at last, but not till, tearing
through brakes of brambles and thorns, we found ourselves in
the Grrambler Grove. And now," continued he, after a pull from
the flagon, " I know for certain that what old folks say is true —
how witches meet the Devil there of summer's nights. In winter
they assemble in the Fuggo Hole, we all know ; because one may
then often hear the devil piping for their dance under our
parlour floor — that's right over the inner end of the Fuggo. And
now I believe what we took for a hare was a witch that we chased
into this haunted wood. Looking through the thickets I spied,
on a bare spot, surrounded by old withered oaks, a glimmering
flame rising through clouds of smoke. The dogs skulked back
and stood around me like things scared. Getting nearer, and
looking through an opening, I saw scores of women — some old
and ugly, others young and passable enow as far as looks go.
Most of them were busy gathering withered ferns or dry sticks,
to the fire. I noted, too, that other witches, if one might judge
by their dress, were constantly arriving — flying in over the trees,
some mounted on ragworts, brooms, ladles, furze-pikes, or
anything they could get astride of. Others came on through the
smoke as comfortable as you please, sitting on three-legged
stools ; and alighted by the fire, with their black cats on their
laps. Many came in through the thickets like hares, made a
spring through the flame, and came out of it as decent lasses
as one might see in Buryan Church of a holiday. A good large
bonfire soon blazed up ; then, by its light, I saw, a little way
back sitting under a tree, who should 'e think ? Why no less
than old witch Bet, of the Mill. And by her side a strapping
dark-faced fellow, that wasn't bad looking and that one wouldn't

16 DT7FFY, ASTD THE DEVIL.

take to be a devil at all but for the company he was with, and
the sight of his forked tail that just peeped out from under his
coat-skirts. Every now and then Old Bet held to his mouth
a black leather jack, much like ours, and the Devil seemed to
like the liquor by the way he smacked his lips. Now said I to
myself I don't much dislike nor fear thee, devil or no, as thee
art so honest as to drink hearty. So here's to thee, wife ! "

Duffy was very impatient, but took care not to interrupt the
Squire. After draining the flagon, he continued to say,

" Faix, I should think the Devil got drunk at last by the way
he capered when the witches, locked hand-in-hand, danced round
the fire with him in their midst. They went round and round so
fast one couldn't follow their movements as Betty beat up on her
crowd the old tune of

1 Here's to the Devil, with his wooden spade and shovel,
Digging tin by the bushel, with his tail cocked up.' "

" Over a while Old Bet stopped playing ; the Devil went up to
her, drained the jack, took from her the crowd, and sang a
dancing-tune I never heard before. The words, if I remember
right were,

' I have knit and spun for her

Tiiree years to the day,
To-morrow she shall ride with me,
Over land and over sea,

Far away ! Far away !
For she can never know

That my name is Tarraway ! ' "

" The witches then sung as a chorus,

' By night and by day
We will dance and play,
With our noble captain —

Tarraway ! Tarraway ! ' '

" I thought the words odd for a dancing-tune, but devils and
witches do queer things."

" The witches, locked hand-in-hand, danced madder and faster,
pulled each other right through the fire, and they wern't so
much as singed, the bitches. They spun round and round so
fast that at last, especially when the Devil joined in, my head
got light. I wanted to dance with them and called out as I
advanced, ' Hurra ! my merry Devil, and witches all ! ' In an
instant, quick as lightning, the music stopped, out went the fire,
a blast of wind swept away umers (embers) and ashes, a cloud
of dust and fire came in my eyes and nearly blinded me. When
I again looked up they had all vanished. By good luck I found
my way out of the wood and home. I'll have another hunt
to-morrow and hope for better luck."

THE DEVIL CLAIMS HIS OWN. 17

The Squire drank another flagon of ale ; then, weighed clown
with fatigue and drink, he rolled from his seat on to the floor.
Duffy covered him up. He often passed his nights thus, when
too drunk to go over stairs. As she threw over him a rug, and
kicked a pile of rushes from the floor, in under his head, he
murmured, " To-morrow, we will ride over land and over sea,
through the air and faraway ! "

It was hours after sunrise when Squire Lovell awoke and
found his wife sitting near him ; but she didn't say a word about
his going a-hunting ; in fact she would rather not be left in the
house alone, or with servants only. Late in the afternoon,
however, he whistled to his dogs and away he went a hunting
again. As he had a mind to see, by daylight, the ground he
coursed over, and where the witches danced, he took his way
towards the Grambler "Wood. Now Duffy hadn't been up-stairs
for all that day, but, a little after sunset, she went up to the
guest-chamber, as a large spare bed-room was called, to fetch
something she much wanted. She took the garment from, a
hanging-press, and hastened to leave the chamber, but, when
she passed round the bed she beheld the bucca-boo, standing
before her, in the door-way. She never saw him looking so well,
nor so sprucely dressed, before. From beneath a broad-brimmed
hat and plume his coal-black hair fell in glossy curls on his
shoulders. He wore a buff coat of fine leather, with skirts so
long and full that they quite concealed his forked tail, or he
might have coiled it round his waist for what we know, any how
there wasn't so much as the tip of it to be seen.

Madam surveyed him, over and over again, from the golden
spurs on his bright black riding-boots to the nodding plume on
his high pointed hat, and thought she had never seen a moro
likely-looking fellow. Yet she was speechless from fear or
surprise. The devil, advancing with stately step, doffed his hat,
and bowing, said in courteous tones,

' ' Know, fair lady, the time is passed and some hours over
that I engaged myself to work for ye, and I hope that you have
no reluctance to fulfil your part of our agreement."

"Indeed no," said she, "I can't say I have much objection
as you are a very well-behaved obliging devil, and, during the
three years that I have had the pleasure of your acquaintance,
you have given me no reason to complain of your conduct.
Yet," continued she, after a moment's pause, "I'd like to know
where yon live when at home, and what sort of a country it is ?
I fear it may be rather hot, as you seem to be burnt very dark ! "

" As to where my country is," replied he, " You wouldn't be
much the wiser if I told 'e all about it, because you have
hitherto seen so little of the world, and there would be great

18 DUFFY, AND THE DEVIL.

difficulty in making 'e understand. As a proof, however, that
my country's climate isn't much to be complained of, you see me
strong and healthy enow ; besides, I'm not so dark-skinned
under my clothes ; and, if you were burned as black as myself, I
would love ye all the same."

" I can't quite make up my mind," said she, " though no
doubt you would please me as well, and make a better husband
than Squire Lovell, who, if he isn't drunk, snores all night with
his face to the wall. If I went how would 'e convey me to your
far country ? "

" I have brought to the Grambler Grove a noble steed," he
replied, " that will go over land and sea, or fly through the air
with lightning speed. Now do make haste, dear, and get ye
ready for my horse is very impatient to be left alone ; he may
whistle for me and shake down the chimney-tops, or paw the
ground and make all the country tremble ; yet he is as gentle as
a lamb when mounted. So come along as you are ; there's no
time for delay," said he, offering his hand.

" If you please," said madam, shrinking back, " I would like
to stay in Trove a little longer."

" Now, no nonsense," said the devil, in an angry tone ; " You
know that I have been true to my word, as every gentleman
ought, and trust you will abide by our bargain : and as for your
knowing my name," added he, with a haughty air, "that's
impossible, because it is long since that I, like other persons of
quality, have only been known by my title, and even that is not
familiar to vulgar ears." Assuming his ordinary courteous
manner, he said, " Yet, my love, for mere form's sake I'll ask 'e
three times if ye like ! Besides, I'm curious to know what sort
of a guess you will make at it. So now, for the first time
asking, tell me if you can, what is my name ? "

"My dear Mr. Devil," said she, "don't 'e take offence if I
happen to misname ye in my ignorance. Now arn't 'e my lord
Beelzebub ! "

"No! be d ," replied he, choaking with anger, "how

could ye even think me such a mean, upstart devil as Beelzebub,
whose name isn't known in the place where I belong ; and,
even here, among those best acquainted with him, nobody ever
heard of his grandfather ! Now I hear my horse shaking his
bridle and, for the second time, I ask ye my name ? "

" Pray excuse my ignorance and don't 'e be vexed," said she,
" for I don't doubt but you are a grand gentleman when at
home and no other, I think, than Prince Lucifer ! "

"What? Lucifer!" he exclaimed, more than ever enraged;
" you make me mad but to think that I should ever be taken for
one of such a mean tribe as Lucifer, who is no better than the

PEIDE OF ANCESTRY. 19

other. As for me, I wouldn't be seen in their company. None
of their family were ever known or heard of in this country till
lately. Great indeed is your want of sense," continued he, with
a scornful air, " to take me for one of these upstarts. Yet,
forsooth, many fools — if one may judge by their fears — seem to
reverence them ; nay almost to worship them. But crafty folks,
who profit by fools' fears, havn't a good word to say of these
new buccas behind their backs, nor yet of their country ; for
that, they say, is full of burning brimstone, and one may well
believe it, for when any of the tribe come here they stink of
sulphur. But one like you — born and bred in Buryan Church-
town — can't have any notion of the antiquity and dignity of my
family ! If you hadn't been the loveliest of Buryan ladies I
would never have condescended to spin for 'e. And now, for
the third and last time, I ask what is my name ? " On the same
breath he added, "come! Give me your hand love, and let's
away, for you can never guess it."

Duffy didn't feel much reluctance to go with him, yet was
proud to outwit the devil and answered,

" Don't 'e be in such a hurry, old gentleman, Buryan people
mayn't be so ignorant as you think them ; they live near enow
to St. Levan witches to know something of devils and their
dealings. You ARE TAKEAWAY — you won't deny it ! "

"No, by my tail," said he, almost speechless with surprise;
"I am too proud of my ancient name to disown it. I'm fairly
beaten ; it's provoking though to be outwitted by a young thing
Kke you, and I can't think however yon found it out. But true
as I'm a gentleman, if you don't go with me now, the time will
come when you'll wish you had, and one day you shall spin for
me yet."

Duffy shrunk back, and, in a moment, thick smoke gathered
around Tarraway ; the room became dark ; and he disappeared
amidst a blaze of lightning and a rattling peal of thunder, that
shook the house from end to end.

Duffy, much frightened, ran down stairs, and, as she entered
the hall, in tore old Jone, terrified out of her wits by the kitchen
chimney -top rattling down on the hearth where pots, kettles,
and pans were all smashed. Their dread was much increased
by finding throughout the house a smother of burning wool.
Other women servants ran shrieking into the hall. Old Jone
said she felt a fit coming on ; whilst she looked about for a place
to fall down and have her fit comfortable ; into their midst
rushed the Squire, with nothing on but his hat, shirt, and shoes.
At this sight all the women have fits ; the Squire stands for
some time, looking on, like one distraught, till the women come
to ; all rise and run out except his wife ; she asked him how he

20 DtTFFY, AXD THE DEVIL.

came home in such a plight, and where he had left his clothes.
The Squire told her that when he came to the Gramblcr he had
a fancy to see by daylight the place where Old Nick and his
witches had their dance the preceding night. He entered and
searched all round — over bare places, between the trees, and
elsewhere, but saw no signs of any fire having been made in the
wood ; there wasn't even a handful of ashes, or the grass so
much as burnt on the spot where he was sure he saw a bonfire
blazing the night before.

He turned to leave this haunted place, by taking his course
down the Bottom, but, when he was just out of the wood, a
blinding flash of lightning sunxmnded him like a sheet of name,
whilst he was stunned by louder thunder than he ever heard
before. "When he recovered his senses and opened his eyes he
found that all his home-spun woollen garments were burned
from his breech and his back, leaving him as he then stood.
He believed it was all done by witchcraft, because he saw tlu-ir
devilish doings. He told his wife to fetch him a coat, stockings,
and breeches.

Duffy, disliking to go upstairs alone, called Tone to accompany
her, and great was her terror to find that every article of
Tarraway's work had disappeared from chests and presses —
nothing was left in them but Squire Lovell's old moth-eaten
garments covered with dust and ashes. He was very dissatisfied
with his old clothes, but there was no help for it.

As clever a conjuror, or pellar, as any in the west country was
fetched, He declared that it was all exactly as Squire Lovoll
thought — the devil and witches had served him out because ho
wanted to pry into their doings, and had chased one of them in
the form of a hare. The wise man nailed old horse-shoes over
the doors, and promised, for little pay in proportion to his
services, that he would take Trove and the Squire's household
under his protection, so that they need fear no more mischief
from witchcraft, nor bad luck.

Madam, by the witch's aid, had a happy riddance of Tarraway,
yet greater troubles were in store for her. Squire Lovell, dis-
liking to be seen again wearing his old stockings, would neither
go to church nor to market, and instead of hunting, as was his
wont, from dawn till dark, he stayed indoors all day, in a very
surly mood, to keep his wife at her spinning ; and she knew no
more how to spin than when she summoned the bucca-boo to
work for her.

The Squire having forbade Betty the witch to como near his
house, Duffy had little chance to see her ; but one Thursday
(evening when he was off guard — up to the blacksmith's shop in
Boleigh, to hear the news from returning market-people, as wit*

MADAM'S TROUBLES. 21

his custom — Duffy hastened off to Mill and made known her
troubles, and the next market-day Betty went to Penzance and
bought the best stockings she could get. On Sunday morning
Duffy brought them to her husband and passed them off as her
own work ; but he wasn't at all satisfied, because they wern't
so fine and soft as what he had been accustomed to for three
years. He wouldn't go to church in them ; he went a-hunting,
however, and returned very cross, for his new stockings didn't
protect his legs from brambles, furze and wet, like Tarraway's.
He again staid indoors to keep his wife to spin, and Madam was
obliged to twirl her wheel all day though she only spoiled the
wool, for unless he heard the sound of turn or cards, he would
be up to the wool-chamber door calling out, "art thee asleep
Duffy, lazy slut that thee art, I havn't heard cards nor turn for
an hour or more, and unless thou very soon makest me better
stockings than the rags on my legs, and a good breeches too, I'll
know the reason why, that I will, you lazy faggot you, what the
devil else did I marry thee for I'd like to know." She would
threaten to card his face if he entered, so they led a cat and dog
life for mouths, that seemed years to Duffy, shut up as she was
in a dusty wool-loft and not a soul to comfort her or to share her
griefs. Her spirits sunk and her beauty faded fast, she thought
it had been better by far to have gone with the devil, than lead
such an irksome life with old Squire Lovell. Often she prayed
Tarraway to come for her, but he turned a deaf ear to her cry,
and was never more seen in Trove.

By good luck, when winter and muddy roads came, the Squire
took it into his head one Sunday morning to don his jack-boots
and jog off to church, that he might learn what was going on in
the rest of the world.

It was the Sunday before Christmas. He wished his wife to
mount behind him, but she, pretending illness, begged to be
excused and said she would be glad to accompany him next time.

Madam watched her good man spurring his Dobbin till he
was clear of Trove town-place, then down she ran to Mill and
told old Betty that unless she got a speedy release ftoni her
irksome task she would drown herself in the mill-pool.

Bet sat a moment on the mill-bed, twirling her thumbs so quick
that one could hardly see them spinning round each other, and
said, "No, my dear cheeld, dont 'e think of such a thing yet,
young and handsome as you are it would be a pity, let's try a
scheme that I've thought of, a woman never should despair of
finding a trick to fool an old man, and if need be the old witch
will stir her stumps and trot again to help 'e, if one plan don't
serve we'll try another, for as the old saying is ' nobody ever
got out of a ditch by grunting,' what's just popped into my

22 DOTY A3TD THE DEVIL.

head may answer!" "Do tell me -what it is," said Madam.
" No, there's no time now," Betty replied. " You have wasted
so much already in bemoaning your griefs instead of thinking
how to get rid of them, like a sensible body ought, that old
master will soon be back from church, and he musn't know that
you have been here, so only mind now what I am going to
tell 'e."

' ' Next Saturday, being Christmas-Day, the Squire will no
doubt go to church and desire you to go with him ; by all means
go, and when, as usual after churching, you stop at the cross to
exchange greetings with other gentry, I'll come near enow for 'e
to hail me with ' A Merry Christmas to 'e An Betty, and a
Happy New Year when a do come.' I shall wish 'e the same,
and you invite me, before the Squire, to come up in the evening
to taste your Christmas beer. And in the afternoon when,
according to custom, there will be a hurling match from Church-
town to Boleigh, the Squire and you, with scores of gentlefolks,
on horseback and a-foot, will be near the goal to see the ball
brought fairly in, and to hinder fighting ; then look 'e out for
me, give your kindest greetings again, and don't 'e be surprised
at anything you may hear and see, or if you be don't 'e show it,
and invite me again to partake of your Christmas cheer. That's
all I have to tell 'e now," said she, opening her door for Dufiy
to depart, but going a few steps on the Green she continue'd,
" It don't cost 'e any pain, no not a bit, to speak kindly to a
poor body now any more than before you became Madam Lovell,
and as good a lady as the best in Buryan, for you are no ways
vain ; but if you had ever shown any scornful pride be assured
I would never have gone a trotting for 'e, nor do what I intend,
to get 'e relieved of your troubles : besides it isn't your fault
that you can neither knit nor spin, you never had a kind mammy
to teach 'e. And no one can blame ye for deceiving old Squire
Lovell — lying and deceit come to us poor women by nature — so
hasten home, leave the rest to me, and hope for better times."

Madam got home just in time to see that dinner was ready,
when her husband returned in a good temper after his morning's
ride.

" Dufiy, my dear," said he, as she assisted him to pull off his
boots, " I wish you had gone to church, everybody was enquiring
for 'e, and asking what was become of us this long time that
they hadn't seen sight nor sign of us. And some of the women
— cuss their itching curiosity they can never be satisfied — wanted
to roll down my boot-tops and undo my knee-buckles that they
might have a peep at my stockings. But on Christmas-Day
come ye along with me, they won't be so foarthing if you be
there."

THE "WITCH'S STRATAGEM. 23

Duffy replied, " my darling man, I'll go with all my heart
and see if they carry their impudence so far again, and now
dear, make a hearty dinner, and tell me all the news you have
heard."

Christmas-Day in the morning, Duffy, as richly attired as any
lady in Buryan, mounted on a pillion behind her husband, and
away they went to church. After service, a great number
assembled at the Cross and sung old charols. Squire and
Madam Lovell exchanged many kindly compliments with the
Cardews, Harveys, Noys, Fenders, Vivians, Gwennaps, and other
ancient gentry of Buryan, who were waiting for their steeds.

Whilst wishing her neighbours a Merry Christmas Madam
Lovell had kept a sharp look out for old Betty ; but had nearly
given up all hopes of seeing her, and was about to mount behind
the Squire, when glancing around for the last time she spied her
steeple-crown and red mantle among the crowd of singers,
through whom she had great trouble to lead her fat and lazy
Dobbin to the heaving-stock. Madam went to meet her, shook
hands heartily and said, " good morrow to 'e Dame Chymellan,
how are 'e an ; I am glad to see ye looking so well and wish 'e
a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year, and many of them.
I hope you liked the sermon and the singing, and so on;" — we
can't tell all the fine compliments that passed so long ago.

" Thank your honour, and I wish 'e the same," the old dame
replied, making a low curtsey to Duffy. Then turning round to
other gentlefolks, she continued to wish all their honours —
as she styled them — the compliments of the tide, calling each by
name as she curtsied to every one.

Now there was nothing remarkable in An Betty's civil words ;
but as she stood close beside the Squire, who was on horse-back,
and bestowed her old-fashioned greetings at every curtsey, an
unseemly noise was heard. Squire Lovell got vex't, the ladies
looked confused, glanced at him and rode off.

Betty, however, without appearing to hear or to heed anything,
mounted the heaving-stock, settled herself comfortably on her
high-peaked bow-pad, and jogged away with Dame Pendar;
Squire Lovell and others going the same road At parting Duffy
said to her, " now be sure An Betty you come up early to try our
Christmas-cake and ale." " Thank your honours I will," replied
she, in turning off to the Mill.

It was customary for the Squire's tenants, and all who choose,
to assemble at his house every night from Christmas-Eve till
twelfth-night, to freely partake of his abundant cheer and help
in the merry disports of the tide ; yet he wasn't at all pleased
because his wife invited the old dame. "I should' nt have
minded her coming at any other time," said he, but to-day a

24 DTJFFY AND THE DETIL.

good many from the hurling will come home with us and pass
the evening ; I hope however, she will be on her best behavioxar
before the quality : to be sure one don't like to offend the spiteful
old witch for fear of her tricks."

In the afternoon Squire Lovell and his wife, with many others —
mostly on horse-back — were got together near Daunce-Mayn
when old Betty stalked in to their midst, and just such another
scene was acted there as took place in Church-town.

Many who came from a distance went down to Trove to pass
a merry Christmas night.

A score or more of ladies and gentlemen, seated in the hall,
pledged each other in hot-spiced-ale, brandy, punch, and wine,
when Betty, Jone and others entered, holding aloft their horns
of foaming liquor. The Squire fearing another display of Betty's
unbecoming behaviour, rose in haste to prevent her drinking
their healths with all the honours. " Stay a moment An Betty,"
said he, " come into the kitchen, I must tell 'e that twice already
to-day you have made me ashamed of 'e, how could 'e do so and
show so little respect for the company both in Church-town and
Boleigh?"

" 0 dear master, you musn't mind such a trifle as that,"
replied she, without budging an inch, " for it will soon be all the
same with madam there, your honour's wife, if you keep her to
spin so much, she won't be able to help it for her life. You may
look scared and misbelieving, but indeed she won't ; no ! no
more than I can whenever I move quick, or curtsey to your
honours as I am, in duty, bound to do ; and if your honours
would like to hear how it happened to me I'll tell 'e.

Many of the company having intimated that they would like
to hear how she became in such a condition, Squire Lovell placed
her in a settle near the hearth, she emptied her horn and gave
the following relation : —

" Know then, your honours, that in my first husband's time, —
more than thirty years ago, — we lived at Trevider. I did out-door
work and helped old mistress besides, when there was extra
house work, such as great brewings, cheese-making, the baking
and roasting at feasten-tides, spinning for the weavers, besides
the regular spinning of winter's nights, and such like. Though
I say it, there wasn't a brisker lass in Buryaii than I was then ;
just like mistress there, your honour's wife. There was no woman
and but few men that could beat me in shaking liners (threshed
wheaten sheaves), leading trusses, branding turves, raking tabs
(roots, grass, &c.), reaping, rulling, aye, or binding either on a
p\ish ; and I could make an arish mow as well as any man. Old
master used to say that at the windan-sheet (winnowing-sheet),
there wasn't my equal in the parish for handling the seive and

THE WITCH'S STRATAGEM. 25

kayer (coarse seive), and that I made a better sample of corn, ;ind
not half so much after-winding and waste, as any other wiiidster
he ever met with ; but I needn't blow my trumpet any more on
that score. My old mistress, Madam Pendar, was a noted
spinster, as you may have heard, and of winter' s-nights she,
with her servant maidens and I, took our places at the turns
(spinning wheels) ; master and the servant men cai-ded and sung
three-men's songs or told old drolls the while. My spinning-
work was soon equal to Madam Pendar' s though she would
never allow it; but my yarn was strong, even, and fine, just like
your honour's wife's," said Bet, addressing Squire Lovell to
fasten his attention. "And often I was kept spinning all day
for days running, just like mistress there. But one Christmas
night every body belonging to Trevider, young and old, went off
in a Guise-dance, except old mistress and I. ' Now they are all
gone, Betty,' said she, ' and left us all alone, see if we don't
enjoy ourselves." Mistress drew a good joram (jug) of strong
old ale, boiled, sweetened, and spiced it whilst T roasted the
apples ; Ave brewed a drink fit for a king ; for hours we pledged
each other's good health and drank to our heart's content. Over
a while mistress began to brag of her spinning, she was proud of
her work and so was I of mine, just like your honour's wife. I
shall ever remember that Christmas-night and how cherry the
old hall looked with the Christmas-log burning bright, and
faggots of oak and ash blazing up the chimney, showed every
window, dresser and wall decked in holly, box, and ivey ; with
branches of bays and rosemary around the pewter flaggons,
plates, and platters, that shone like silver among the Christmas
greenery.

Old mistress boasted much of her spinning, and wager'd a
bottle of brandy — which she placed on the board — that she woidd
spin a pound of wool in a shorter time, and make a finer yarn
than I could. I took her to her word, rolled up the rushes from
the floor, to make a clear run all the length of the hall, and
placed our turns, while mistress weighed and carded the wool,
divided the mils, and gave me my choice of them. When all
was ready, to cheer our hearts and put life in our heels, we each
drank a noggin of brandy. Then I tripped backward and
forward as light as a feather, and for more than three hours we
twirled our wheels by the bright fire-light, keeping good timo
together. My yarn was suant (even) and fine as a flaxen thread;
just like that spun by my lady there, your honour's wife, and 1
was then about her age. I had nearly spun my pound of wool,
and never felt in better heart for dancing to the turn, when, as
bad luck would have it, my twadling-string — weakened witli .-<>
much stepping backwards* — burst. I fell to the ground, and ever

C

26 DUTFY, AJST) THE DEVIL.

since I've been in the sad predicament that so surprised your
honours. Though its comforting to have companions in affliction, ' '
said she, after a pull at the flaggon, " yet from the regard I have
for your honour and mistress there, I have spoke of my ailment to
warn 'e that as sure as I sit here with a broken twadling-string
it will soon be the same with my lady there, if its true, what I
do hear, that you keep her to spin from morn till night most
every day of the year. When that do happen you will be
frighten' d into fits ; old mistress was so scared that she nearly
lost her senses, she thought the house falling about her ears, to
save herself she snatched the bottle and tore up stairs ; next day
she was found asleep under a bed with the empty bottle close by
her head."

Old Betty's story rather surprised the company, and Squire
Lovell, much concerned, said " I'm glad you told me An Betty,
now drink another horn full like a dear ; I wouldn't for the
world that my darling Duffy should be in such a plight, never-
more shall she spin from this very night. I would go bare leg'd
all my life, rather than such a mishap should befall my wife.

The entertainment concludes with a dance, to music made by
Father Christmas on a crowd.

CELTIC MOJTOITENTS OF BOLEIQH AND ROSEMODRASS.

Dear land of old romance,
Legend and mystic dance ;
Lost towns and temples, and that buried shore

Where thy great hero fought his last sad fight,
Cromlechs and quoits and cairns and hills of war,
Circles of mystery and mounds of might.

W. K. D.

BOUT a furlong south-west of Trove, but on a
tenement of Boleigh, is the Fuggo. It consists of
a cave about six feet high, five feet wide, and
near forty long, faced on each side with rough
stones, across which long stone posts are laid. On
its north-west side a narrow passage leads into another cave of
similar construction and unknown extent ; as it has long been
blocked up by a portion of the roof having fallen in. One may be
pretty sure, however, that much of the stories about its great
length are fabulous. They say that it extends from its entrance,
at the foot of Boleigh hill, to the old mansion at Trove ; in proof
of this the old one has often been heard piping under a
parlour of the house. It is supposed he meets the witches down
there, who have entered by the Fuggo to dance to his music.
Hares are often seen to enter the Fuggo which are never known
to come out the same way ; they are said to be witches going to
meet their master, who provides them with some other shape to
return in.

There are also traditions of this cavern having served as a place
of refuge to some of the Levelis in troublesome times ; and of its
having frequently been used by our fair-traders, as it afforded
them a secure hold for storing their goods, and to have a carouse
therein.

Old traditions about the far-reaching and unknown extent of
the Fuggo, may not, however, be altogether void of foundation.
At the annual excursion of the Royal Institution of Cornwall, in
1871, Mr. H. M. Whitley, of Truro, remarked that the bank,
just opposite the branch cavern, sounded hollow, from which he
is persuaded that there is a chamber underneath to be yet ex-
plored.

There are the remains of a triple entrenchment near, and this
subterranean passage might have been connected with it.

28 CELTIC MONUMENTS OF BOLEIGH AXD ROSEMODRA83,.

Old folks of the neighbourhood say that there was another
Fuggo in Trove Hill, on the opposite side of the Glen, but the
entrance has long since been closed, and no one knows exactly
where it opened.

The track of moor and croft between Trove and Boleigh has
indeed never been thoroughly examined by our antiquaries ; yet
as the vestiges of ancient British habitations are generally found
in the vicinity of prehistoric monuments, the iJaunee-mavn,
Menheres, and holed-stones on the hill, would seem to indicate
that this sheltered glen might be a likely place in which to find
the remains of old crellas or circular huts, similar to those of
Bodennar, Busullow, and Chysauster. And farther up, near
the brook, amidst brambles and furze may yet be discovered
traces of ancient Celtic dwellings, with ashes still on the hearth
and quern and rnuller beside it.

A short time ago an old inhabitant of Boleigh informed us
that many persons in that neighbourhood are afraid to enter tin-
Fuggo, even by day, as they believe that bad spirits still frequent
this place. Women of villages near often threaten their crying
babies that they will carry them down to the Fuggo, and leave
them there for the Bucca-boo if they don't stop their squalling.
There are traditions that almost all these caves were haunted by
beings of a fearful nature, whose path it was dangerous to cross.

The fuggo at Bodinnar, called the Giant's Holt, was a few
years ago much dreaded, as it was thought to be the abode of
ugly spriggans that kept watch and guard over treasures which
still remain buried in that ancient hiding-place.

There is a somewhat graceful creation of fancy associated with
the Vow, or fuggo, at Pendeen, which is said to extend from the
mansion to Pendeen Cove, and some say it has branches in other
directions, which spread far away from the principal cavern.

At dawn on Christmas Day the "Spirit of the Tow" has
freqiiently been seen just within the entrance, near the Cove, in
the form of a beautiful lady, dressed in white, with a red rose
in her mouth. There were persons living, a few years since,
who had seen this fair but not the less fearful vision ; for disaster
was sure to visit those who intruded on the spirit's morning
airings.

Many of the " sawns " in the western cleaves have also similar
legends connected with them, only the dwellers in sea-side
caverns, are either of the mermaid race, or what we call Hoopers.
The latter are beneficent spirits who warn fishermen from going
to sea when there is an approaching tempest.

The Hoopers shroud themselves in a thick fog which stretches
across coves frequented by them. There ure well remembered

BOLEIQH. 29

stories of Sennen Cove Hooper that used to rest in a cloud of
mist, on Cowloe, and thence emit its doleful notes as a danger
signal.

BOLEIGH OK BOLEIT.

Although we never heard of any Household Stories connected
with this interesting spot, yet we cannot pass it without some
notice of its prehistoric remains.

Our antiquaries follow the fashion of spelling the name of the
hamlet on the hill as above, yet everyone here who ought best to
know the name of the place in which they live, call it Bole.
Most likely it has been thus pronounced from long before it was
ever written. All sorts of contradictory meanings have been given
for the name of this noted place ; as the dairy-house, place of
slaughter, &c. It was once the residence of an old Norman
family, whose name, spelt Bolleit, may be seen on a long coffin-
shaped slab, which lay on the floor within the tower of Buryan
Church a short time ago. The inscription in old Norman-French
which borders the edge of this curious tomb says that

f CLARICE : LA : FEMME : CHEFFEIE : DE : BOLLEIT : GIT : ici :

DEV : DE : LALME I EIT : MEECE : KE : PVR : LEALME : PVNT

(PRIUNT:) m: IOR : DE : PARDVN : AVERVND.

This means, in plain English, to say f " Clarice, the wife of
Geoffry de Bolleit, lies here : God on her soul have mercy : Who
prays for her soul shall have ten days' pardon."* Now the " Bo"
we know to be another form of Beau, in ancient French names.
Leit may be a variation of lieu. The provincial pronunciation of
Beaulieu is, in many parts of Northern France, simply Bole.

* It is somewhat curious to notice that no one who has written on the parish
of Buryan, in speaking of the Boleit tombstone in the church, has pointed out
that the inscription is, in accordance with a very common custom, in verse,
namely in a triplet followed by a distich. It reads thus : —

Clarice, la femme Cheffrei

de Bolleit, git ici,

Dieu de lalme eit mercie.

Ke pur lalme punt

Di ior de pardun aveunt.

The word punt in the fourth line is short for prieruiit. Probably there is
now, or at all events, has been at some time, in the original, a small letter r
above the word between the p and the u. An r has been similarly omitted
in aveunt. This somewhat primitive epitaph may be thus literally translated
into equally primitive English : —

Clarice, the wife of Jefferei

Of Bolleit, here doth lie.

God of her soul have mercie.

For her soul whoever prays

Shall have pardon for ten days.

From ONE AND ALL.

30 CELTIC MONUMENTS OF BOLEIOII AND ROSEMODRASS.

And this is the nearest approach to the proper sound of the name
that a Cornish man would be likely to turn his tongue to form.
This old Norman family, as in many other instances, might have
done their best to give to their new inheritance a name which was
a common one in their former home. This conjecture respecting
the derivation is at least as probable as the others. We know of
no Cornish name which terminated in leit, yet, if the name bo
Cornish, it is safer to take the traditional pronunciation of those
who live in Buryan than to go by any mode of spelling.

MENHERES.

The most striking objects seen after passing through the hamlet
are two large long stones or pillars of granite, sometimes called
the pipers, but formerly known as the hurlers, which stand in the
fields on the north side of the road. Antiquaries are far from
being unanimous in their conjectures as to the purpose intended
to be served in the erection of these remarkable stones. Whether
they were astronomical, sacerdotal, or sepulchral monuments —
whether erected for all or neither of these objects — the learned
think it premature to decide. There is no mark on these
mysterious stones to throw any light on the subject. Yet it is
pretty certain that all the large menhere stood in pairs; that
their bearing is generally east and west ; that they are mostly
found on an open plain near other Celtic monuments, and the
vestiges of ancient British habitations; and we may be sure
they were formerly more numerous and regarded as objects of
great importance, from the number of dwelling-places, enclosures,
and names of old Cornish families terminating in Menhere, as
Tremenhere, or Tremener, (Longstone place) Polmener, (Long-
stone pool) Goonmenhere, (Longstone downs) and many others.
Probably many of the companion stones of the erect single
pillars may be still found lying along in some hedge, at no great
distance, (about the twelfth of the circle north of east or south
of west), from those which remain where placed thousands of
years ago.

If the menhere (as has been conjectured from being found in
pairs, bearing nearly east and west) were intended to mark the
times of the equinox or solstice, these seasons being sacred
festivals of Baal or the Sun, the desire of the early Christians to
obliterate all remembrances of Pagan rites may account for the
prostration or destruction of such objects as must have been
regarded with religious veneration, from their importance to show
the times to sow the grain, and do various kinds of work pertaining
to pastoral life ; and, above all, to denote the sacred festivals of

HOLED STONES. 31

our forefathers, which we still commemorate in our Midsummer
bonfires. These long stones at Boleigh are the more interesting
because there are not many of the original pairs to be found
standing in the west. There is another pair near Newbridge,
and one may be seen lying prostrate in Escols lane, Senneri, at
a short distance from the stile on the pathway to Escols village.

There is a tradition that this menhere was taken down from
where it stood, in the middle of the field, by a giant, who lived
in Escols, by him rolled into the hedge, and his son, ten years of
age, placed the trigg (propping stone) as we may still see it.
An old lady of Escols informed me that the other stone of the
pair was in a hedge at no great distance, prostrate also. The
erection of these huge monoliths proves that the animal powers
and mechanical skill of owe ancestors were of no mean order.

HOLED STOITES, &c.

Continuing on the road towards Boskenna, a minute's walk
from the Menheres brings us to a holed stone standing in the hedge
on the right hand side. This stone has been removed a con-
siderable distance from its original site to form the side of a
gateway. The upper portion of the stone is very much broken,
and is irregular in shape, yet its head appears to have been
triangular and worked to an angle similar to the Men-an-tol at
Lanyon.

In the lane near the holed stone is an ancient cross, seemingly
placed in the midst of the Druidic momunents to sanctify what
the old Celts would not permit the Christian teachers to remove.

There is another holed stone near by, in Rosemodrass lane,
placed head downwards, and it serves for the hanging-post of a
gate. The form of the head of this stone cannot be easily
ascertained, as it is buried so deeply in the ground that only a
small portion of the hole is to be seen.

The aperture in both these stones (about six inches in diameter)
is too small to pop the smallest, or all but the smallest, baby
through ; yet the people call them crick stones, and maintain
that they were so-called before they were born. Crick stones
were used for dragging people through, to cure them of various
diseases. As these holed stones at Boleigh have been removed
from their original site no satisfactory conclusion can be arrived
at as to their primitive use. Some have thought that these stones,
in common with the men-an-tol at Lanyon, the tolmen in
Constantine, and many others, might have served the same
important purpose as the meiiheres — to fix the proper time for
the celebration of the autumnal equinox, by the stones being so
placed that the sacred index of the seasons on rising above the

32 HOLED STONES.

horizon would be seen through the perforation, at a right angle to
the face of the stone, and that the triangular head of the stone
formed such an angle that when the sun was on the meridian,
(at certain periods of the year, which were required to be known,)
its altitude would denote the time, by its place in the heavens
being in a line with the slope of the primitive time-piece, which
would then cast no shadow on the ground at mid-day If these
monuments were intended for stone calendars, and any can be
found in their original position, it might be possible, at least
approximately, to fix the time of their erection, by their present
variation from true east and west. If the deviation is in the
direction demanded by the precession of the equinoxial points, the
difference might be calculated at the allowed rate of fifty seconds
a year. There is but little doubt but the men-an-tol still remains
where it was first erected.

As urns, or crocks of ashes and charred bones, have frequently
been found near these, and other mystic stones, which were
generally regarded as Celtic relics, it has been conjectured that
long-stones, holed-stones, and quoits (cromlechs) were all raised
to mark the last resting-places of some noted personages. Is it
not as probable that they were erected for the use of the living,
and, by being associated with the religious observances of the
time and people, came to be regarded as garrac-zans or holy
stones ; and that the priest, or chief, would desire to be buried
near them, prompted by a feeling identical with that of the
present time and common to all ages, which makes many desire that
their poor dust and ashes may rest near the shrine at which they
worshipped, within the bounds of what they regard as holy
ground? Sacerdotal communities have always been ready to grant
this distinction to the rich, and encouraged this enshrining of
the relics of mortality, because the presence of the King of
Terrors in the temple augments that mysterious awe with which
all ancient theocratical hierarches endeavoured to invest them-
selves, and all their ghostly appurtenances ; as by this means
they acquire more power over those who live in dread of the
spirit world, easily conjured up by morbid fancies, when sur-
rounded by whatever engenders melancholy.

Besides the tohnen noticed above there are several others in
the western part of Cornwall. Some thirty years ago, two holed
stones, about the size of those at Boleigh, might be seen in Treen
Cliff, at no great distance from the end of Pedny vounder lane,
on the sea side of the wheel-road to Castle Treen and the Logan
Rock. These stones were amidst other rocks. One was standing
upright and the other lying flat on the ground a few feet from it.
The old people of Treen did not know what these stones were
placed there for.

THE DAUXCE-MAYX. 33

In a field on the southern side of the lane is the circle of
upright stones called by the people of Buryan, Daunce-Mayn.
The name is most probably a corruption of Zaus Me'yn (sacred
stones. } and has nothing whatever to do with dancing maids. The
legend that the (originally) ninteeu posts were damsels, thus fixed
for dancing on Sunday, was evidently suggested by the name to
some manufacturer of such wares, who as readily converted the
two longstones, in the field across the road, which we have
already noticed, into the Pipers, who took to their heels and left
the damsels to their fate as soon as their metamorphosis began ;
but their ungallaut action did not avail, as the; petrifying power
of the cursing saint, who stopped their sweet pipings, overtook
them when they ran thus far, and laid them up in stone as we
now see them.

No such legend, however, is native to the place, as the old folk
only know it from having it repeated to them by visitors,' who
have seen it in books. They never regard the name as having
any connection with dancing maids any more than dairy maids,
and the Menhere, changed into Pipers, were known to them by
the name of the Hniiers, from their having been a goal for the
hurling-run, when the starting-post (where the ball was thrown
up) was the cross in the Church-town.

This story affords another example of the way in which the
meaning is lost of many an ancient Cornish name, (which tells a
history,) from the foolish desire to assimilate the expressive old
Cornish name to some unmeaning English nick-name, Thus,
goon-here-an (the long downs) near Tregonebras, is become
goldherring. And the town-arms of Penzance is just as bad a
punning king of 1'lazon. It is easy to understand how Zans-
]\leyn became Daunce-Meyn. A common form of men is medii,
as pen changes into pedu, in Tol-Pedn-Penwith. And this is
near enough to maiden, for the legend to spring up to account
for the name.

Another common name for the Celtic circles is the Nine
Maidens. Now, as the xisual number of stones in the circle is
nineteen, that number may have something to do with the first part
of this name, and the latter woidd come from the Cornish, as
before, medii.

The Daunce-Meyn is the best known of all the Druidie circles
in the west, as it is within sight from the road frequently taken
by those visitors to the Logan Rock who care for seeing the many
interesting objects, and fine sea views, visible from the lower
road, as we call this route near the sea shore. Yet the circle at
Boacawen un, in the higher side of the parish, is invested with a
peculiar interest, from tlie fact of the opinion held by Dr. Borlase
that these circles were places of council of judgment, has been

34 THE DAUNCE-MAYN.

confirmed by an old Welsh triad, which makes this place still more
remarkable by naming it as one of the three Gorsedds, or places
of judgment for poetry and bardic minstrelsy. This valuable relict
of Welsh poetry, as translated by the eminent Welsh scholar,
the late Kev. Thomas Price, is in English: — "The three Gorsedds
of Peetry of the Island of Britain ; the Gorsedd of Boscawen
Damnonium ; (Damnonium included Cornwall and great part of
Devon ;) the Gorsedd of Salisbury, in England ; and the Gorsedd
of Bryn Gwyddon in Wales."

We hope that when the laureate revisits Cornwall he may be
induced to go there, and, sitting on a granite throne, by the
side of the tall central stone, sing the "Idyls of the King," if
ouly in honour of the Welsh bard who has preserved the
remembrance of this remarkable temple where ancient minstrels
sung of how Merlin, the enchanter, deceived the beautiful Igerna,
so that she received King Uter Pendragon as her husband — how
King Uter died, and Arthur, his son, by Igerna, kept his court at
" Wild Dundagel, by the Cornish sea" — and how our own Prince
Arthur, and his knights of the table rounde, slew all the enemies
of Britain. Here they sang of the beauty and guile of the fair
and frail Guenever — of the honour and truth of Arthur's knights,
and the treachery of Mordred. Here the Bard sounded a
lament for the lost lands of Lethowsow, and the submerged City
of Langona : —

" Between Land's End and Scilly rocks
Sunk lies a town that ocean mocks.

*****

Where breathes the man that would not weep
O'er such fine climes beneath the deep ? "

We owe a debt of gratitude to Dr. Borlase for preserving
to us a graphic description of these, and many other, Druidic
circles which have disappeared since his time.

Fortunately, the work of destruction has been arrested at
Boscawen-un circle, as the lady to whom the property belongs
has caused it to be surrounded with a good hedge to prevent
further spoilation. Some years ago a wholesome fear prevailed
of bad luck following anyone who removed these landmarks of a
long past age, but now our country folk think themselves more
enlightened, and, unless those who have some respect for the
monuments of ancient times, take measures to prevent the
recipients of this questionable sort of enlightenment from
exercising their vandalism, our Celtic remains will soon disappear.
Pages might be filled with an account of the destruction which
has taken place within the past half century.

That these circles were used for religious, judicical, or political
purposes, (and in ancient times all three were combined), there

THE DATJNCE-MAYX. 35

can be no doubt, from the veneration with which they were
formerly regarded. This solemn respect was expressed in the
belief that the avenging deity, in the shape of Bad Luck (which
was felt to be as real a personage as any other undefined invisible
demon) would sooner or later overtake the sacrilegious destroyer of
of the ancient holy stones. In many of the oldest villages there
were formerly alter-like stones, known by the name of garrac
zans, (the holy stones) which were protected by the fear of the
goddess of Bad Luck ; and until within these last few years, no
rude hand wuuld dare to remove or spoil them. We remember
one of these venerated rocks in the village of Rosekestal and
another in Sowah town-place. The noted stone in Mayon was
also called indifferently the garrac zans or table men. We have
heard of many others which were formerly to be seen in the
town-places of ancient hamlets, but their places know them no
more.

Dr. Borlase describes many circles and other Celtic remains
as being in his time almost as perfect as when left by our
forefathers thousands of years ago. Of these public monuments,
there is now scarcely a trace to be found. Recent investigation
proves the trustworthiness of the information preserved by the
antiquary, born and bred in Pendeen, in the very heart of a
district which contains, even now, more Celtic remains of all
kinds than any other portion, of equal space, in the British
Isles.

By similar monuments to those we have noticed at Boleigh,
the migrations of the ancient Celtic race may be traced from
farthest Ind to the Scilly Isles.

THE LAST OARPEW, or BOSKEXXA, AXD THE
STORY OF NELLY WKAUXK.

No ditch is so deep, no will is so hifjh,
If two love ourh othor, they'll meet by and bye ;
No stonn is so wild, and no night is so black,
If two wish to meet they will soon find a track.

From KLAUS GHOTH'S .Sow/ "Keen Urnjf' is so brut.''

Max M idler' s Truncation.

)IIERE are few places which afford such a variety of
picturesque views as may be seen in and from tlio
grounds of Boskenna ( " dwelling-on-the-ridge." )
The sylvan and rural are beheld, forming endless
combinations with the grand, the Avild, and the
romantic. Glimpses of the boundless ocean are caught through
overarching boughs in deep winding glens, where the brilliant
plants of semi-tropical climes are seen growing in loving com-
panionship with our more modest and sweet native shrubs, ferns,
and flowers.

From the height called the Rockery, (surely there must lie an
old Cornish name,) the view embraces towering earns, distant
hills, and headlands, including Castle Teryn and the Lixard Point;
scenes of many wild legends and poetic traditions, of Danish
invaders, of witches, saints and hermits.

" Far as the eye can peer,
The waters roll, divinely blue and clear;
With white sails Hashing in the sunlight's ray,
Of eountless vessels, near and iiir away ;

Here the wild sea-gnll plumes her snowy breast,

Then skims the wave or perches on the crest

Of some majestic cairn, or cromlech when:

Long ages past the Druids knelt in prayer,

Till, with stretched wing, she cleaves the fields of bine,

I)ips 'neath th' Atlantic, and is lost to view,"

One of the most delightful spots on the grounds of Boskenna
is a little wooded glen, through which flows a clear slream, em-
bowered by luxuriant foliage and fringed with ferns, Hags, and

ST. LOY. 37

sedges, amongst which many rare wild flowers show their elegant
bells of pale blue, and star-like blossoms of every tint. The
brooklet and shady walk wind down this little vale to St. Loy
Cove, where, within a few years, there stood on the verge of the
cliff, the walls and altar of a chapel dedicated to St. Eloi ; but, a
few years ago, this interesting relict of the piety of ages past,
with its wrought-stone altar, was thrown over cliff by the, then,
occupier of an adjacent cottage, without the knowledge or
permission of the owner of the property. The vestiges of this
sacred building were thus toppled into the sea, merely that a
few feet of land might be gained for growing early potatoes ;
and now nothing remains but the name of St. Loy to connect
this romantic spot with the saint by whom Chaucer's " Wife of
Bath" was accustomed to swear. We fear that the mention of
this realistic, marriage-loving dame may put to flight all poetic
notions ; yet hear what our Cornish poetess, Mrs. S. E. Tonkin,
(from whom we have quoted above) says of this hallowed
shrine.

" A pleasant ramble through a bosky vale ;
A pause to hear a babbling brooklet's tale ;
A moment's lingering by its mossy well,
And I, once more, am in St. Loy's green dell.

Ages ago, as old traditions say,
The monks devout stole here to fast and pray ;
Within these wilds they communed by the sea,
And reared for worship a fair chapelry,
Where pious souls, and needy, found them rest,
And by their prayers and sanctity were blest.

Naught now remains'to whisper of the past ;
Still, o'er the spot a holy light is cast,
In gothic arches yon fair trees entwine,
Low-drooping o'er the consecrated shrine,
And waves come singing, as they inland flow,
Thrilling the heart with strains of long ago."

The place thus favoured by nature and Mrs. Tonkin's verse,
was an ancient seat of the Cardew family, who, between two
and three centuries ago, also owned Boskenhal and several
other farms in the neighbourhood. The last of this decayed
family, who lived in the old home of his ancestors, mortgaged
this place, and other lands, to the predecessors of the present
possessor. The Paynters resided here for some generations,
and the late Mr. John Paynter will long be remembered in the
West Country as a liberal landlord and kind neighbour ; and
for being more learned in the law than country justices usually
are. It was a common saying in the West, that ' ' the Squire of
Boskenna knew more law than all the lawyers of Penzance put

38 STORY OF NELLY WEABNE.

together ! " This place is now the residence of Charles Dacres
Bevan, Esq., Judge of the district County Court. Mr. Bevan
has much improved and beautified both the mansion and grounds.
Many years ago, the late Mr. Cardew, of St. Ives, (who was
descended from a collaterial branch of the Boskenna family)
informed us that there were several old family portraits of the
Cardews in the mansion of Boskenna during his remembrance.
He also related the following traditional

STORY OF NELLY WEARNE.

This damsel was an illegitimate daughter of the last Cardew
of Boskenna, and, (according to a very general custom which
prevailed in the West) this love-child was bound a parish
'prentice to her father that he might be legally entitled to some
degree of guardianship over his irregularly-begotten offspring.
Children thus bound to their fathers were mostly regarded as a
sort of poor cousins to the legitimate members of the family,
and they "were often taught a trade or handicraft, or portioned
off with some small tenement. Nelly's spendthrift father,
however, was a most unsuitable guardian for a young girl. He
paid much more regard to his dogs and hunters than to his
daughter, -who, by all accounts, was very remarkable for her
good looks and devil-may-care disposition. The Squire's mother
did all an old dame could do to restrain her wild tendencies, and
give her a little more gentle breeding than was thought requisite
for an ordinary sevant. Dancing was one of the accomplishments
in which Nelly took most delight, and Madam was rejoiced to
find that her damsel was soon the best dancer in Burian.
However hard Nell might have worked during the day, she
thought nothing of going three or four miles of an evening, in
any kind of weather, to enjoy her favourite diversion at some
village merry-making. She never missed Burian Fair, which
was then regarded by our western lads and maidens as the most
joyful holiday of the spring.

When Nelly had become a young woman it happened that one
Burian Fair-day the weather was even more tempestuous than
usual, though the storms of Burian Fair are proverbial. Madam
Cardew had made up her mind that Nelly should remain at
home that stormy night, but she protested that neither rain nor
•wind, thunder nor lightning, nor all the old women in Burian,
should hinder her going to Church-town and dancing at the Fair,
which only came once a year ; and she swore that a reel she
would have, before that night was passed, even if she danced
with Old Nick. " She would never be married," she often said,
' ' unless she could meet with a man who was able to dance her

BURIAN FAIR. 39

down; and she would find one that night or the Devil might
take her." Off she went in a storm of wind, rain, and thunder,
blaspheming and reviling the old lady, who tried to keep her
home. Arrived in Church-town, Nelly found dancing going on
in every room of the public-house ; and violin, fife, or tambourine
making music for the revellers in many other dwellings. Nell
entered the principal room of the inn ; and before she cast off
her cloak and wrung the rain from her long black hair, many
youngsters asked her to drink and dance with them, but she
refused them all, saying they couldn't keep the floor half so
long as herself — she would either get some better partner or not
have a jig for that night.

Whilst she was declining the offers of her rustic suitors, two
dark-complexioned, strapping sailors entered, and one of them,
dressed in dashing style, with gold lace on his coat, broad leather
belt round his waist, cutlass by his side, and glossy boots
reaching to his knees, advanced to Nelly, doffed his hat, bowed,
and said, " Pray dance with me, my fair pretty maid? " " With
all my heart, sir," she replied, rising and giving him her hand.
Nelly's partner called to his comrade, " Now pipe away, Bosun,
and give us the good old tune." The seaman addressed as
Bosun took a pipe from his pocket, marched round the couple
prepared to dance, saying "A floor, a floor, for the lovely Nell
and our gallant Capt Black." The piper blew at first a rather
slow measure, to which the captain's heel and toe, true as an
echo, showed a new step at every change of pass and pitch. By
slow degrees the tune became quicker till it was such as Nelly
never moved her feet to before. The lively music soon drew
such a crowd into the room to see the dancers, that the floor
beams warped and showed signs of breaking. Then, as the
storm lulled and a full moon shone bright, the dancers, followed
by all the rest, left the house for an open space below the cross.
Now every one wanted to treat the seamen, and they drank as
much as they could, to show their good fellowship with every
one, and Captain Black, giving a purse of gold to the landlady,
desired her to send out her best cordials for the women kind, and
to keep her beer-cocks running, that all might drink health to
him and the lovely Nell.

When one and all had drunk as much as they liked, the
Bosun's pipe again rung out so loud and clear that his music
was heard for miles away. The Captain, Nelly, and scores of
others again danced in joyous style. People from all parts
flocked round them ; every house in Church-town was soon empty.
Old men and women hobbled and danced on their crutches ; the
piper's lively strains set every one in motion, till the road was
covered with dancers, capering like mad folks, all the way from

40 STORY OF NELLY WEARNE.

Park-an-cady to the cross and around the churchyard. Soon after
midnight, however, whilst their mirth was at its height, there
suddenly came on » more violent storm than ever of wind, hail,
and thunder. The sky, black as pitch one moment, was all
a-blaze the next. Streams of lightning fell and ran hissing
along the ground. All were terror-struck with the sudden rise of
this awful weather. Yet, in the general consternation, some one
had the happy thought to ring the bells, that their sound might
allay the weather, and drive away the evil spirits who rode on
the tempest. With the first stroke of the big bell the thunder-
clouds rolled away to the eastward, and at the same instant
Captain Black vanished with Nelly and the piper.

This terrific storm, joined with the sudden disappearance of
Nelly and the dark looking strangers, so frightened many that
they fell down in fits, and others, from the same cause, were
never right in their heads again.

On a tract of uncultivated land north of Boskenna lane, there
was then a barn, which usually contained a quantity of dry food
for the cattle wintered on the downs. This barn, then full of
straw and hay, was burned to the ground that Fair-night, and
near its ruins were found a handkerchief, full of fairings, with
some other things which belonged to Nell, but all search for the
wilful damsel was in vain. Most people believed that Captain
Black was the Old One, disguised as a seaman, and the Bosun
some inferior devil in attendance — that Nell, by her blasphemous
language, had brought them from below, whither they had now
taken her to dance as best she might. Squire Cardew, being
less superstitious than many of his neighbours, conjectured that
the strange dancer and piper were nothing worse than two jovial
sailors, who had carried her off to their ship — an occurrence far
from unusual in these times; and in hopes of gaining some
tidings of his stolen or strayed daughter, he rode into Penzance
and over to Market-jew, to make enquiries; but he could learn
nothing of her. Some said, however, that a strange craft had
anchored in Guavas Lake, the Fair-day, and that part of her
crew had landed in Newlyn, but nothing farther was known of
them, as the ship made sail the next morning.

Nelly's gay songs were missed in Boskenna hall, where she
often sung for hours, to cheer the old lady when they were
together plying their spinning-wheels, or seated in the window,
lighted with the evening sun, at their embroidery. Then, at
night, she used to be foremost in the dance with her father and
his roystering companions of the chase.

Grief for the strange fate of Nelly shortened the days of old
Madam Cardew, who was soon at rest in Burian churchyard, and
the Squire took to hunting, drinking, and rioting worse than ever.

NELLY'S RETUKN. 41

Twenty years and more passed ; Nelly and the Cardews were
all but forgotten ; new people possessed their ancient domain ;
none of their kin remained in the West, but an old well-to-do
yeoman and his family, who resided at Sennen.

One dreary afternoon there was a very humble funeral at
Burian Church, and the last Cardew of Boskenna was laid beside
the dust of his forefathers. Soon after candle-light on that day,
whilst some few who came to see the last of the spendthrift, who
had lavished his property upon them, were still drinking in the
public house, there entered, dripping wet, and weary, an elderly
foreign-looking woman, whose dress of rich stuff and of out-
landish make, was travel-stained and much the worse for wear.
The large hooped-shaped rings in her ears, joined with her dark
complexion and long braids of black hair wound around her
head, only covered with the hood of her scarlet mantle, made her
appearance still more remarkable.

The stranger enquired if Betty Trenoweth, who many years
ago lived in Boskenna, was still alive. She was answered that
Betty was alive and well, and lived no farther off than a minute's
walk would take her, in a comfortable dwelling of her own, over
Trevorgans side of Church-town. Without giving any one the
chance to question her as to who she was, or whence she came,
the outlandish-looking dame proceeded to Betty Trenoweth' s
cottage. The elderly woman, who opened her door, asked the
stranger in and placed her to sit by her fire-side, wondering
who she could be and what she could want of her, at that time
of night. The stranger in a broken voice and speaking in an
unfamiliar tongue, made many enquiries about the Cardews, and
appeared to think they were all still living in Boskenna.

Betty informed her that none of the name were then in the
place — that her old mistress had long been dead, and the young
master was that day buried, having lost all his lands, she couldn't
tell how, and the new people had, for years, only kept him there
in a condition little better than that of a servant to hunt the same
dogs which were his own a short time ago. " But who can you
be," she continued, " not to know anything about them now ; yet,
from what you say, you must have known them all long ago ?
Oh ! if I could but believe that dear Nelly were still alive, from
the sound of your voice, so like the tones of the one laid in his
grave to-day, I would say that you were she ; and if you are, I have
kept everything that belonged to ye, and what was found on the
morning after the Downs barn was burnt is now in my chest."

"My dear old friend," the stranger replied, "I'm your Nelly,
The night I lost that handkerchief I found my husband, but we
must have some rest before I can tell ye our history "

Dame Trenoweth showed her delight at again beholding Nelly,

42 STOEY OF NELLY WEARNE.

by preparing her a good supper and a comfortable bed. In the
morning Nelly rose refreshed, and knowing the old woman
wished to hear how she had fared since they danced together at
Burian Fair, commenced by asking, "Did it never come into
your head to think who the dark seaman could be ? You had often
seen the one, whom many took for Old Nick, dance with me in
Boskenna hall, when he, and scores of others, came to Feast.
He had to leave the country, because a person he beat in fair
fight died from the effects of his lusty blows, three years, or so,
before that Burian Fair ; and the Bosun, too, was a lad you very
•well knew."

" Oh," exclaimed Betty, " now I see it all : the one that took
you off was young Billy Brea, and his comrade was his cousin
Bosvargus, of Kelynack."

"You have rightly guessed," Nelly replied.

" Hundreds of times," Betty continued to say, " old mistress
and I have wondered what was become of the wild youngster
who was so fond of you, even when a young girl working your
sampler ; and he, foremost in the hunt or fight, always said he'd
have no other wife than the lovely little Nell. And old Madam
would often say that, though he might be as poor as poor might
be, yet was he come of the gentle blood of the Breas of Brea,
who at one time were as rich and high as any in the West
Country ; and their old mansion, with the chapel turned into a
barn by those who now occupy their estate, and their chapel on
the hill of Brea, still show how grand they once were ! I remem-
ber, too, the many good offers you had from rich farmers' sons
around, and wondered how you refused them all."

When the old dame had somewhat recovered from her surprise,
Nelly told her, that, young and thoughtless as she was, until
Brea, to avoid trouble to his family, escaped with great haste
and secrecy, she had no notion how deep was her love for the
unfortunate youngster, and that he, unknown to every one but
herself, had been for many days and nights in Boskenna or
Treviddern cliff, before Bosvargus found a merchant-ship, in
which they both left on a long voyage. Nelly knew if all went
right, when they might be expected to return ; and Brea promised
her that, whenever he came on shore, he'd take no rest till he
met her again in the old chapel of St. Loy, where many a long
and dreary night she had watched and prayed for his safe return,
and often of an evening, or a winter's night, when the inmates of
Boskenna thought her in bed, or miles away at some merry-
making, she was wandering the cliffs, or waiting in the cairns
near by, in hope of meeting with her absent lover. Yet she had
only the chance to see him at long intervals, and then only for a
short time.

CAPTAIN BLACK. 43

Four or five years after Brea went to sea, he became captain of
a ship. Then he proposed to take Nelly with him as feis bride,
and she, being nothing loath, they met at St. Loy, one night, a
little before the Fair, and agreed that, at the Fair, a dance
together they would have, and that should be their bridal night.
He was so altered, as well as his comrade, the Bosun, that no
person but Nelly knew them, and, if they did, no one would
betray him, or turn informer.

When Nelly had come thus far in the history of her courtship,
Betty said, "Now, my darling, one can understand how, in spite of
wind and rain, you were so eager to go to Fair that night ; and,
faith, I'd go through fire and water for the man I loved when at
the mad age you were then. One can see how drink, given
without stint, by the open-hearted sailor, together with the
music of the Bosun's pipe, set every one dancing in spite of
themselves. Then, when the storm so suddenly came, and as
suddenly broke, and you vanished in the midst of thunder
and lightning, with Brea and his Bosun, everyone believed you
were carried off by the Devil, and it's thought so still. But tell
me what next became of ye ? "

NeDy then related, how when the storm was at its height, Brea
took her on towards Boskenna. They intended to see old Madam,
say farewell, and take a horse from the stable to help them on
their road ; but, long before they came to Boskenna gate, with
hard weather, drinking, and dancing, Nelly was unable to stand.
Then Billy Brea took her up in his arms, and bore her along till
they came to the Downs barn, where she fell on the straw half
dead. Brea remembered every hole and corner about the place,
and knew that a tinder-box, with candle and lanthorn, used to be
kept in the barn that one might have light in winters' mornings
to bundle up straw or hay for the cattle, and, being anxious
to reach his ship early in the morning, wanting to know the time,
and not being over steady in the head, when he struck a light and
saw by his watch that there was still some hours to daybreak, he,
neglecting to put out the candle, fell asleep and only woke to find
the place on fire. He drew Nelly from the burning barn, and
they hurried on to Mousehole, where they found the Bosun and
boat's crew waiting for them*

"And have ye been lawfully married, my darling ? " asked the
the old dame. " Indeed we have," answered Nelly " not that I
cared much about the ceremony ; for to me his love was all in all,
and from that moment I felt sure of his truth and affection I
regarded him as my husband and freely gave him all that love
requires. Yet as we were near a port when I was about to become
a mother, my husband proposed we should go through the legal
form wnich would entitle our children to bear their father's

44 STORY OF NELLY WEARNE.

family name, if they chose ; so one may say they are, at least, all
truly born. But that was of little consequence, because he was
no more known by the name of Brea."

Captain Black, as we shall henceforth call Nelly's husband,
offered her a home either on land or on board. She decided to
make her abode in his gallant ship ; the Captain was pleased with
her choice, and she not to be encumbered with an inconvenient
dress for such a life, rigged herself in man's attire, and soon
learned to do the duty of an able seaman. To act as cook and
steward on board ship soon became as natural to her as the care
of Boskenna mansion. Besides this, Nelly learned to keep the
ship's reckoning and navigation so well, that often, when the
Captain was laid low with wounds or fever, she took his place,
and by that means saved the ship and ship's company.

During many years they traded from London to distant ports
in various parts of the globe, without any serious mishap ; but,
on a return voyage from the Levant, a Barbary corsair gave chase
and overtook them. At that time these sea-robbers seldom levied
what they were pleased to call dues for coming into, or crossing,
their waters, from any English ships, but often from a motive of
revenge as much as for gain, confined their attention to Spanish
and French vessels. This Levantine gang, however, attempted to
board and take the £uck, and many of them were cut down
by her crew, as they came up the side, before they gave over
and made off. In this encounter Captain Black, Nelly, and
several of the crew were badly wounded. This maddened the
Captain, and he swore to serve out these cursed pirates if his crew
would join him. Nell and all the ship's company, being as eager
for revenge as their Captain, and hoping by this neck-or-nothing
game to acquire riches quickly, as soon as their cargo was
disposed of, the Captain having saved a large sum, procured a
suitable craft for privateering which he called the Lovely Nell,
and when she was well armed and victualled, they made sail for the
Levantine seas, where, in a short time, they captured several rich
prizes, and, among others, the galleon which was the cause
of their becoming privateers. On this crew they took ample
revenge.

Nelly, and all the ship's company, liking the excitement of this
wild life, and not being over-scrupulous as to the means of
getting rich, no sooner neared the Cornish coast that the Captain,
Nelly, Bosvargus, and some few others, put ashore, in a boat, at
Goonwalla Cove, and buried a quantity of gold in some secret
nooks of the cliff. The Lovely Nell then took her course for the
sea-rovers' rendezvous in the West Indies.

There, many years were passed in buccaneering expeditions to
plunder the French and Spanish Settlements, until they had

BUCCANEERING. 45

amassed a great quantity of treasure in money and jewels, taken
in pillage and for the ransom of prisoners. Nelly said that, for
many years, she much enjoyed this roving life. During that time
several children were born. And all who lived were boys, who
soon became expert sailors, and, after serving their apprentice-
ship with their dad, all but the oldest and youngest had then left
for other vessels.

About a year before the time Nelly returned to Burian, she,
with her husband and most of the crew, thinking they were rich
enough, wished to give up this roving life, and decided to settle
down in their native land. They disintered the riches they had
buried in various uninhabited islands and keys, which were only
frequented by such as themselves. The chests of dollars, bars of
silver, ingots of gold, ornaments, jewels, and rare gems, which
belonged to the Captain's share alone, were worth more than
would purchase half-a-dozen such estates as Boskenna, and the
dearest wish of her heart was that they might return in time to
free that place for her father

They were many months collecting all their riches. They then
set sail from the western main, and arrived with fair weather in
sight of the Cornish coast. The wind being light and sea smooth
they kept close in shore for the pleasure of gazing on the well-
remembered cairns and coves.

More than a week before they sighted land, Nelly was seized
with a most intense desire to be put ashore at some cove near the
Land's End, and, when they beheld the well-known landmark of
Burian Tower, saw Castle Trereen, passed Peuberth, St. Loy,
and Lamorna Coves, her longing to land and see her father was
such that she could neither eat nor sleep ; and this was about the
time he breathed his last.

She begged to be landed in Mount's Bay, but her husband,
wishing her to remain on board till their vessel should be disposed
of and their riches turned into English money, they passed the
Lizard, when, to save her from going mad, she was put ashore at
Falmouth. Thence she was brought on horseback to Market-jew,
and walked from that place to Burian. Her husband agreed,
should the weather permit, to return to Mount's Bay, and there
cruise about until she might be ready to proceed along with him,
when, as was arranged, she would be taken on board from
Mousehole or the Mount. This is the substance of what Nelly
related to her old friend, of her adventures up to that night ; and
when Dame Trenoweth told her how all the Cardews were dead
and gone from Boskenna, she no longer desired to see the old
mansion, but heartily wished herself again on the ocean with the
one for whom she had left her native land and weathered the
storms of more than twenty years ; she endeavoured to cheer

46 STORY OF NELLY WEARNE.

herself with the hope that, ere many days, she would again
behold the Lovely Nell, sailing, in all her pride of flowing sails,
and, walking the quarter-deck, her husband, near enough to be
hailed from Reginnis Cliff.

The second day after Nelly's return to Burian, she became
anxious to rejoin her husband, as she knew the wind had been
favourable for him to beat back to Mount's Bay. It had been
arranged that he should cruise about near the coast for a day or
two, or until she might give him a signal, from Paul Cliff, to send
a boat ashore for her at Mousehole. The following morning
Nelly rose by break of day, dressed herself in a suit of seaman's
clothes which she had brought with her, left her discarded
woman's dress, and a good sum of money, with Dame Trenoweth,
and wished her good-bye, saying that she hoped to see her again
ere long, when she and her husband would settle down, in the
West, to end their days in peace.

Before sunrise, Nelly stood on the high headland west of
Mousehole, straining her vision in a vain endeavour to pierce
the clouds of mist which rolled over the water and hid both sea
and shore. She could hear the fishermen's voices and the sound
of oars rattling in the row-locks ; but, only at the distance of a
stone's cast, land, sea, and sky, were all shrouded in fog. A few
hours later the mist cleared away. She saw boats returning from
the fishing-ground, and a good many vessels passing across the
Bay, but no craft that could be taken for her husband's ship.

Tired with watching, from the cliff, the ships as they sailed
past, she descended to Mousehole to make enquiries there, if any
vessel like the Lovely Nell had been seen on the coast. She met
with no person until near Squire Keigwin's mansion, and there,
near the balcony, were collected a number of people around a
pile of such things as are usually found loose on a ship's deck.
Nelly joined the crowd, who told her that the water-casks,
hatches, buckets, spars, and other articles she saw before her had,
that morning, been found floating near Lamorna Cove ; and
everybody thought that a ship, which was seen cruising near the
shore, the night before, must have struck on some dangerous
rocks west of Lamorna, sprung a leak, and foundered in deep
water, with all hands on board. Nelly, hearing this, rushed
through the crowd, examined the wreck, and there saw many
well-remembered articles belonging to her husband's ship.
Whether Nelly cried, fainted, or gave any other natural ex-
pression to her grief, we don't know. Without discovering
herself, however, to the people of Mousehole, she remained
there all day, hoping to hear something farther from others who
had gone out in search of anything which might be floating near
the place where it was supposed the vessel must have sunk ; but

A WISE WOMAN FROM THE EAST. 47

nothing more was learnt of the disaster. Some fishermen, how-
ever, said that when the mist cleared away they saw a boat far
out to sea, but that they concluded it to be a smuggling craft
bound for France.

Late at night Nelly returned crushed with grief, to her old
friend who did all she could to console her, and. time, which
alleviates all sorrows, at last brought relief to the bereaved
woman. Then she assisted the old dame in her household work
and in carding and spinning — more because constant exercise
made her think less of her loss than from any necessity for
exertion to gain a livelihood. She had brought with her a good
sum of money, intended to pay off the incumbrances of her father's
estate (in these times a small amount of gold would buy a large
extent of land). She had many valuable jewels besides. An
Betty was also well off. Having seen the last of Madam Cardew,
the old servant had from her son many valuable dresses and old
heirlooms of the family, saved, between them, from the clutches
of those who got the besotted Squire into their power, and, long
before he died, this old servant of the family was the only one in
the wide world to care for him, or who showed him any kindness.
Nelly, on her mother's side, being a near relation to Dame
Trenoweth, she regarded the poor wanderer as her own daughter.
When several months had passed a circumstance occurred which
gave Nelly just that uncertain glimmer of Hope against Eeason,
which is more grievous to bear than the certainty of evil.

A sealed bottle was found in Mount's Bay, containing a paper
on which Captain Black's name, and those of several others,
were written. It was directed to " Nelly Wearne, Boskenna ; "
and the news came to her through the gossip of the village. The
paper was lost or destroyed without reaching her, because every-
one thought that she was an inhabitant of a warmer region.

An Betty one day said to Nelly, " 'Tis as good as a play, my
dear, to see how all the old women of Church-town try to discover
who and what you are, and. they can't find out, because, for the
fun of the thing, I take good care to fool them." Seeing that
Nelly roused herself and took some interest in her talk, she
continued,

" They are mad to know how you are never to be seen any-
where out-of-doors, except down in the cliffs, early in a morning
or late of moonlight nights."

" Well, and what did you answer to that ? " Nelly asked.

"To puzzle them the more," said Betty, I told the curious,
prying fools, that you were a Wise Woman come from the East —
that you ramble over cliffs and moors to gather herbs, whilst the
morning dew is on them, or when the moon is near the full —
that no one can beat you in making from them, ointments, salves,

48 STORY OF NELLY WEABXE.

and still-waters — that you understand all sorts of complaints and
can cure anything, from the gripes to the palsy. And now all
the young wenches in the parish want to know if you can read
fortunes ; they think you can because you look like a gipsey, so
they say. ' Why yes to be sure ; nobody better,' I told them. Now
listen to me," Betty went on to say, when she had recovered her
breath, " I've made them believe that you can read the stars —
that you know all that will happen to any body by the lines of
their palms — that you can tell, by means of rushes, spring water,
and ivy leaves, and scores of ways besides, who are to be married,
as well as who are to die unblessed with a husband. And to
everything they asked about your knowledge of white witchcraft,
I assured them that you knew more about magic, conjuration,
and so forth, than the Witch of Endor that we have all heard of."

" My dear old friend," says Nelly, " how could 'e go on so. I
know no more about fortune-telling than you do — perhaps not so
much, as you're a noted hand for charming."

" No matter for that," answered An Betty, "You know every-
thing remarkable that ever happened in the families round up to
the last twenty years or so, and what you don't know I can tell
'e. When they find that you're acquainted with what's past they
are sure to believe that you can read them the future. Besides,
this game will serve to divert your thoughts from ever dwelling
on Billy Brea, or Captain Black, if you have a mind to call him
so."

"I don't much mind trying, but how shall I manage to know
who they are?"

"You keep in the hale," (best room) Betty replied, "and,
before they see you, I'll come in and tell 'e who they are ;
then, when they enter to consult 'e, be sure, first of all, to give
a hint at some scandal that made a noise about their families, no
matter how long ago ; everything bad is remembered for ages
after the good is forgotten. Then promise the young lasses any
number of sweethearts and a speedy marriage. You know what
you used to wish for in your teens."

In spite of her grief, Nelly, to please the old dame, soon
became widely known as the wise woman, or white witch, of
Burian Church-town. She read the fortunes of young and old,
much to their satisfaction and her own gain. Those who could'nt
pay in cash paid in kind. The greatest trouble she had was
with the sedate, plain, and sour elderly females, who were all
but past hope. They would come, and come again, mad to know
if they were ever to be blessed with a husband. By the old
woman's advice, Nelly gave them dubious answers and advice
for wheedling old hoary-heads and hobble-de-hoys, as they were
easiest snared. 'Tis said some were supplied with love-powders,

FOKTUNE TELLING. 49

made from the bulbs of plants commonly called Adam and
Eve, and that others were furnished with compounds for more
questionable purposes. In a little while Nelly became famous
for match-making. Her outlandish dress and the strange speech
which she affected, made the simple folks, who had never been
out of the smoke of their chimnies, think she must have been
born and bred in Egypt, or in some other foreign land of which
they had heard.

Sometimes, when at a loss to find a suitable response to the
wishes or fears of her visitors, she would burst out with long,
unintelligible words, as if forgetting herself, and end by saying,
' ' Oh ! my dears, know that, far away as I am from my native
land, I often think that I am speaking to my cousins, the
maidens of Jericho; all the tongues of eastern countries are
easier for me than your Cornish speech. At other times she
would entertain them with stories of what she had learned from
an uncle in Babylon. Besides carrying on these profitable trades
of soothsaying, charming, and deviltry, Nelly and Dame Tre-
noweth made and sold ointments that were in great demand for
the cure of various skin diseases, which were more common in
those times (when much salt meat was used all the year round)
than the same class of distempers are at the present day. The
way in which these ointments, salves, or unguents were prepared,
was by seething in lard elder-flowers, betony, and other healing
or drying herbs, cut fine, until their medical virtues were
extracted ; then the ointment was carefully strained from the
herbs and ready for use. As a remedy for a troublesome dis-
temper, now seldom heard of, they made an ointment from
Skaw-dower, the English of the name is water-elder, (the
Scwphularia : ) sulphur was mixed with this unguent for the
disease alluded to. Another noted preparation of this time was
a golden-coloured salve, made from purified lard and celandine
juice ; this was much esteemed as a remedy for obscured sight.
Our wise-women also distilled elder-flowers, eye-bright, and
other cooling herbs for eye-waters.

Nelly and her aged friend had acquired much useful knowledge
about the virtues of plants from Madam Cardew, who, like many
other ladies of the West Country, at that time, prepared from
simples, many useful medicines with which they supplied their
poorer neighbours, and such was Nelly's fame as a skilful
doctoress, that, before a year was gone, gentle and simple came
from a great distance to consult her for her medicines. Her
preparations might have possessed medical virtues which need not
be despised even in these enlightened times. Though the faculty
make a jest of old women's nostrums, yet in our great-grand-
mother's time, the uses and natures of various plants were much

E

50 STORY OF NELLY WEARNE.

better understood by country ladies than they are at the present
day ; because those who are esteemed accomplished botanists pay
more attention to the classification and nomenclature of plants
than to their usefulness. In this kind of life, Nelly passed her
time — seemingly tranquil. Knowing that any expression of
gloomy feeling only makes it take the deeper root, she showed no
outward signs of sorrow. Yet she was for ever grieving over the
untimely fate of the lost ones ; and, when alone with her old
friend, she would often say that, in spite of all she could do to
forget, her heart was ever with her husband and children at the
bottom of the deep. However skilful the poor woman might
have been in reading others' fortunes, she little knew what fate
had in store for her.

One Autumn evening, about three years after Nelly returned,
she was alone with' her old friend relating some adventures of
her sea-faring life. As usual, her husband's reckless courage and
bravery was the theme of her discourse. A knock was heard at
the open door. Dame Trenoweth rose and saw, standing on the
door-sill, a stout, dark man, who asked if any one lived there
who could read his fortune ? Nelly knew the voice, sprung to
the door, and was clasped in her husband's arms.

"Whatever has happened," said Nelly, "thank the Powers,
you are safe. But tell me where are my sons ? " " Here's one of
them," said a lusty young fellow, stepping into the doorway,
from having stood on one side fearing the fortune-teller wouldn't
turn out to be his mother, " and my eldest brother is on board
our good ship anchored in GKzavas Lake, which we left a few
hours since."

The Captain then related how he had come to Boskenna,
expecting still to find some of the Cardews there, and Nelly with
them. He found none but strangers, who told him that the
Cardews were all dead and their clothes washed — that Nelly Wearne
had never been heard of since she was carried away by the Old
One, as every body believed.

They came on to Church-town and enquired at the inn if a
strange woman had come to the parish about three years since,
and were told that a gipsey fortune-teller, who lived with Betty
Trenoweth, came there about that time.

Before going to rest Captain Black related how, on the foggy
morning, when he hoped to take Nelly on board, by a mistake in
reckoning, he kept too near the shore, and their ship struck on a
rock west of Lamorna. As the ship leaked but little at first they
hoped she had only sustained slight damage. They tacked off
the coast, still shrouded in dense fog, and intended to bring her
into Mousehole or Penzance ; but, in an hour or so, the water
poured in so fast that they had barely time to launch a boat

BOUND FOR MADAGASCAR. 51

and place in it a small part of their riches, when the Lovely Nell
went to the bottom, with several of the crew in her hold. The
Captain told all hands to let the jewels, gold, and silver go to
Davy Jones's locker, but some of them, disregarding his orders,
went below and were endeavouring to save a part of their riches
when the ship sunk, and he being the only one then on deck
swam off and reached the boat. They remained an hour or more,
beating about where the ship went down, in hopes that some of
the submerged crew might escape from the hold and rise to the
surface. The fog still hid the shore, so that they knew not on
which side of the coast they lay, and, before they had time to
think much of their loss, or to form any plans for the future, a
ship, with sails and rigging all out of order, loomed in the mist,
within speaking distance.

There was not a soul to be seen on the dirty-looking craft.
Black hailed her with the usual questions. No response. They
were about to board her and hailed again, when a man rambled
to the gangway and, in a drunken voice, answered " Here I am :
this ship is the Red Rover" To the questions where bound,
&c., he replied "We are from the Seas: we want to get to
Madagascar ; can't 'e tell us the way, mate, and where we are
now ? we ought to be near there by this time I should think, and
seeming to me I have heard your voice before now, but can't call
'e by name, who are 'e an ? and where do 'e hail from when you
are home ? "

On getting nearer, Captain Black perceived that the one who
spoke to him was a St. Just man, who had sailed with him many
years — a good fellow, and a first-rate seaman when sober, but he
was so seldom capable of performing his duty, that the Captain,
to be rid of him, and others of the crew equally fond of rum,
had, a year or so ago, left them the good ship in which they sailed ;
but now from neglect, those who built the strong and swift-
sailing craft wouldn't know her.

"Oh; I know 'e now," said the St. Just man, after he had
stared at Captain Black awhile. " You are our old commander,
and I am brave (very) and glad to find 'e ; and where have 'e
left your ship, the Lovely Nell?"

Black inquired for their captain and quarter-master.

"I'm cappen to-day," he of the Red Rover replied, "we are
all commanders in turn when we arn't too drunk, like all the
rest of us are now. As for quarter-master, we haven't wanted
any yet to share the prizes ; but we want a captain who can keep
the reckoning, and you shall take charge of the ship with all my
heart, if you will."

With the St. Just man's full consent, Black and the remnant
of his ship's company, among whom were his two sons, took

52 8TORY OF NELLY WEAKNE.

possession of the Red Rover which, for strength and swift-
ness, was almost equal to his former craft. Before the drunken
crew came to their senses all the arms and ammunition were
secured in the cabin. Then, over a bowl of punch, Black was
elected Captain ; a quarter-master was chosen, as was usual with
these hardy seamen ; and they had a carpenter among them who
always performed the surgical operation : in case of need he
would take the wounded limb under his arm, and, with his big
saw, separate it from the body of his patient, with as much ease
and as quickly as he could have cut a spar in two, and with his
red-hot axe cauterize the wound.

Eules were drawn up, agreeably to the sea-rover's code, and
sworn to on an axe — the Rover's old crew consenting to all
Captain Black required on the condition that there should be no
stint of rum.

Now a few days after this, whilst the old and new hands were
working in company, clearing the deck of all lumber, that they
might have a fair stage for fighting and otherwise getting things
into ship-shape, it leaked out and was known to the Captain that,
only a few months since, the Rover's former crew had chosen
a commander and officers who knew something of navigation,
but when the crew was augmented by half a score desperadoes
from the lawless multitude swarming about the islands, these
officers, for trying to check the riotous proceedings of their ship's
company, got themselves marooned ; that is, they were put
ashore on an uninhabited island, that they might take their
chance to die or live. As these deserted men were the only ones
on board who had any notion of keeping a ship's reckoning, the
drunken crew, who took possession, when found in Mount's Bay,
had a very vague idea as to what part of the world they were
sailing in, and they had, by fits and starts, a week or so past,
given chase to the Lovely Nell, thinking her to be some richly
laden merchant-man. She and her crew had been altered in her
rig, and otherwise, so as to pass for a ship pursuing an honest
vocation. Some of the marooned men were well known to
Captain Black and esteemed by him to be worthy fellows, as
pirates go, and as brave men and true — for gentlemen of their
profession. Without enlightening his crew as to their destination,
he made sail for the desolate island, and by the time they had their
guns, pistols, and cutlasses clean and fit for service they arrived
at the place of exile only just in time to save the deserted men from
starving in the midst of plenty ; all for want of a tinder-box, or
any other means of kindling a fire. The rescued men told Captain
Black and the sober portion of his ship's company, that they would
repay them for their deliverance with something more substantial
than words. The fact was that in wandering over and round the

BKAVE BUCCANEERS. 53

island in search of water, yams, roots and fruits, or whatever
would contribute to sustain life, they had discovered an immense
quantity of buried treasures, probably the concealed spoil of
former pirates, which were taken on board to be shared among
all but those who marooned them. The drunken mutineers, when
their former officers were brought on board, were sent on shore
with a tipsey fiddler to take their places.

Among the rescued Captain Black found one of his own sons.
This did not surprise him, as he had left his father's ship many
years ago, that he might enjoy more liberty elsewhere ; but it
accounted for the silence of the crew. It was only in their
drunken bouts that an intimation of the occurrence escaped, on
which the Captain acted.

Some provisions, a tinder-box, and materials for striking fire,
were left with the sailors on the island. The rescued officers
soon recovered their strength, and, falling in with a strong and
swift-sailing Spanish ship, the Rover gave chase, and captured
the prize, which, as one captain was enough in a ship, was handed
over to those delivered from the island, who retained part of the
crew and made the rest walk the plank.

Captain Black, with his share of the treasures found on the
island, was as well off as ever he was for returning ; but, as the
greatest part of his ship's company preferred to enjoy their free-
and-easy life a few years longer, they bore away to the Spanish
Main, where they sometimes acted in concert with other
buccaneers.

Nothing worthy of note is related of their adventures One
of their practical jokes was whenever the buccaneers took a
priest in any of the Spanish settlements, they conveyed the sable
gentleman on board, placed him on all-fours, and rode him round
the deck, or made him dance by sweating him with pricks of
knives or forks, &c., as long as the fiddler or piper could play.

In about three years they had treasures to their hearts' content,
and those who chose to "give up their adventurous career returned
with Captain Black. Best part of the night was passed by the
returned Captain in relating his adventures to his wife and the
old dame.

Early next morning three horses were procured, and Nelly,
with her husband and son, were on Newlyn beach by break
of day.

Captain Black hailed the Red Rover. A. boat, well manned,
left the ship and soon grounded on Newlyn beach. Then such
a man as the Captain was when he danced at Burian Fair, on
his stormy bridal night, sprang from the boat and beat through
the sea to meet his mother. With little delay great store of
money, jewels, rich stuffs, and other valuables were landed and

64 STORY OF NELLY WEARTTE.

conveyed to Betty Trenoweth's dwelling. The Red Rover
with. Nelly's eldest son appointed commander, proceeded on her
voyage to London, that her valuable merchandise might there be
disposed of. Now the Captain and younger Black, by Nelly's
earnest desire, consented at least to try the landsman's peaceful
life. They had more riches than would suffice to purchase a
good farm and enable them to live at their ease. The son, too,
seems to have had no great love for a sea-rover's profession.
Black leased, or purchased, a large old house at Trevorgans,
with about thirty acres of tillable land, and a great run of downs
and moors which, though they could not boast of much in the
shape of game, were well stocked with rabbits, and the moors, in
winter, were resorted to by wild-fowl — a substitute for beasts of
chase not to be despised when but little fresh meat could be
had. Then hunting was pursued as much for necessity as for
pastime, The younger Black took to the farming kindly, for one
who had only been used to plough the deep, and soon acquired a
sufficient knowledge of the simple husbandry practised at that
time.

When the only crops grown in fields were corn and pulse, green
crops for winter's consumption were unknown, and potatoes, just
introduced, were regarded as something more curious than useful,
and to- be cultivated in the gardens of rich folks only ; just as
Jerusalem artichokes, asparagus, sea-kale, salsify, beans, and
many other useful plants, which ought to be grown in every
farmer's field or garden, are still neglected here. The bold
Buccaneer, Black, was* well received and made much of by the
neighbouring gentry, who, for the most part, were very poor ;
yet they contrived to keep up a show of gentility on very
inadequate means. Then in Burian parish alone, one might
count seven or eight gentlemen's seats, or, more correctly, what
by courtesy were called such, which were inhabited by different
branches of the Pendars, Tresillians, Davieses, Jenkins, Harveys,
Hutchenses, and others. The Levealises had become extinct, and
the Noys, Boscawens, Vivians, &c., had shortly before then
removed from their ancient homes to other parts of the country.
Portions of their old mansions still remain in the condition of
dilapidated farm-houses in Trove, Trevider, Treveddern, Pendrea,
Baranhuel, Alsia, Tresidder, Rissic, &c. A country church was
then, (perhaps even more than it is now,) the principle stage on
which the rural gentry displayed their state and grandeur to
admiring rustics. Captain Black, not to be eclipsed, would appear
in Burian Church on Sundays and holidays dressed in crimson
damask waistcoat and breeches, silk hose, diamond knee and shoe-
buckles, a red feather in his cocked hat, a gold chain round his
neck with a diamond cross hung to it, jewel-hilted sword, hanging

DOING PENANCE. 55

by a silk sash, at his side ; his naval-blue coat resplendent with
gold buttons, lace, and other trappings proper to the Buccaneer's
costume. Nelly, decked out in rich velvets, lace, silks, satins, and
jewels which once belonged to dark-eyed senoras of Mexico or
Peru, eclipsed all the ladies of the West Country.

Such a man as Captain Black, notwithstanding his former
profession was not a person to be treated with contempt at any
time, and much less "In the days when we went a pirating, a
long time ago." These gentlemen were looked upon as heroic
adventurers, who served the dons, by way of reprisal, no worse
than they deserved. Because then, if an English, French, or
Dutch ship put into a Spanish- American port she was likely to be
confiscated, and her crew kept prisoners, or treated no better than
slaves, if they escaped with their lives, till dearly ransomed. We
have little to do, however, with the morality of sea-highwaymen.
Yet, if old stories may be credited, our brave Buccaneer Black soon
became a greater favourite with certain ladies of the parish than
he was with their lovers and husbands.

One tale is often told of his adventures with a gay lady of the
Tresillian family, who then lived at Tresidder, and how a noted
smuggler called Ackey Carn, one both landless and lawless, who
cared for no man, being a rival for the gay dame's favour, by way
of a jest spoke of certain amatory passages which he had
witnessed between the Captain and lady, whose powerful and proud
relatives constrained Carn, under pain of their displeasure, to do
penance in Burian Church for thus thoughtlessly exposing the
scandal. But the culprit, who, according to custom, came into
church barefooted and clad in a sheet, instead of kneeling before
the priest or parson, to beg pardon, and otherwise express
contrition, and receive the priestly reprimand with becoming
humility, stood up in front of the rud-locks (rood-loft,) turned his
back to the priest and, facing the congregation (crowded to behold
the show) made the well-remembered speech which begins : —

" Here am I, compelled by the law
For to deny what my own eyes saw, &c."

Here follows a miuute relation, told in language more quaint
than choice, which was calculated to spread the scandal far and
near. Then, throwing off his sheet, he showed himself well
armed and bade defiance to all priests, pirates, and Tresillians,
this side of a disagreeably warm place, as he would have said, if
paraphrases of gentle words and equivocations had been the
fashion then ; however, he said he didn't care a rap for any one
before him, and he would fight them all one after the other.

Black took up the challenge as soon as given, and offered to
fight him there and then, any way he chose, either with arms or

56 STORY OF NELLY WEARNE.

naked fists. Their partisans decided that they should fight
unarmed. Black threw down his sword and would have fought
in the church had there been a clear field for their encounter. They
passed through the hundreds who were assembled at a clear
space or bowling-alley, below the cross. Ackey Carn, finding
that Black was too dexterious for him in the use of his fists, and
that he was getting the worst of it in boxing, turned the Captain
over his hip and brought him down a fair back fall ; and, as often
as Black rose, the smuggler laid him down at full length, yet
always with the greatest care not to harm the man who had often
treated him like a prince. Carn only wanted to convince the
Captain that he was his match one way or another in the art of
self-defence. The two men having fought and wrestled till they
were bruised black and blue, acquired the greatest respect and
admiration for each other's courage, fair play, and prowess ; and
they were taken at last into the public-house and, over a bowl of
punch, the Buccaneer and smuggler Carn became sworn friends,
which they ever remained until their day of doom, when they left
this world together.

Notwithstanding the favours of country ladies and gentlemen,
Black, soon became tired of what he was pleased to call a land-
lubber's lazy life. Caring little for hunting, and less for fanning
and other sports or occupations which make rural life glide
pleasantly away, he passed much of his time in the public-house,
surrounded by a gang of loafers who drank at his expense and
applauded his stories of savage warfare, told in such infernal
language as is seldom heard except from the lips of sea-robbers.
His greatest delight was to beat everyone in hard drinking — no
easy matter in those times. An old song of that jovial age thus
describes what was deemed fair enebriation : —

" Not drunk is he who from the floor,
Can rise alone, and still drink more !
But drunk is he who prostrate lies,
Without the power to drink or rise ! "

After days and nights of drunken revelry, Black, in gloomy fits,
would often wander down to the cleves and pass many days alone,
in the earns and sawns of the sea-shore, or was only seen in
company with the smuggler Carn, who, from the Sunday when
they fought for the honour, or disgrace, of the fair lady, became
the Captain's favourite companion. Yet time hung heavy on the
Captain's hands, and by way of a change, he had built from
his own designs, a strong, swift-sailing, half-decked craft, which
might serve for fishing and fetching liquors and other goods from
France. There was a high duty on salt then.

When she was all rigged and ready for sea Captain Black

THE CAPTAIN IN A TEMPEST. 57

took Carn for his mate, and they, with a crew of such dare-devils
as suited them. They set sail one Friday morn in the Fall and
shaped their course for Ghmwallo, where they landed, dug up and
shipped the treasures taken from the Moorish galley some five-
and-twenty years before. Thence our free-traders bore away for
their usual trading port in Brittany. They soon procured the
goods they required, then passed several days drunk and rioting,
and often fighting, with anyone they encountered, for mere
pastime. As smugglers spent abundance of money in the
place, they were allowed to do much as they pleased. At last
they made sail for home with a fair breeze, which, however, soon
died away ; and, for several days, there was scarcely a breath of
wind. The sky continued overcast and the air sultry. During
this heavy weather Black lay among the goods like one worn out,
and scarcely spoke or moved. After a tiresome spell of beating
about and making but little progress, the wind freshened, and
one evening, about night-fall, they sighted the Lizard. Then,
suddenly, black clouds gathered over-head, and a thunderstorm
came on. With the first flash of lightning Black sprung up and
said, " Hoist all sail, boys, for by all the devils we'll get home
this night." The crew wished to shorten sail or lay to till day-
dawn, but the Captain's spirits rose with the storm. He took the
helm, and shaped his course in almost total darkness, for Penberth
Cove The boat going before the wind, bounded over the waves
like a thing of life ; the crew expected every moment to become
a wreck ; they could only see the cliffs by the flashing lightning ;
when Black, as if sporting with their fears, cried out, "Bravo,
devils of the whirlwind, fire away, we will give ye a salute with
our thunder;" then, giving the helm to Carn, he loaded and
fired their swivel-gun, in answer to a cannonade from the clouds.
The crew were confounded by the blasphemous talk of their
commander, who, amidst the crash and roar of wind, waves, and
thunder, seemed rejoicing in his native element. Their terror
was at the utmost when, amidst the awful tumult, he stood up
and, tearing out a handful of hair, threw it away in the blast,
bellowing out, "There, fellow devils, take that; stand by me
now, and I'll be with ye soon."

That instant the lightning burst out in such bright flashes over
the cliffs, that rocks and earns were seen as plainly as at noon-day,
and a sheet of flame hung over across the cove, from Pednsawnack
to Cribba Head, till they ran safely in and the storm died away.

With the help of farmers' men and others, who had been
several days and nights watching for the smugglers' return, the
goods were soon landed, taken up to a level spot above the capstan,
and covered with a tarpauling. Then two or three kegs were
broached, a fire made, and the smugglers, with those who assisted

58 STORY OF NELLY WEARNE.

them, sat round to enjoy the good liquor and other things.

At the height of their carousal the Captain drew the keg he
sat on close beside the pile of blazing wood. He had not long
settled himself there to drink and smoke, when his breath
appeared to be all ablaze and his body in flames. His mate, Carn,
threw himself on him, and swore he would save his Captain
or perish with him. And perish with him he did ; for, before the
rest of the company had power to hinder him, both the com-
mander and his mate were blazing like a bonfire. They neither
spoke nor struggled. The others, in great terror at beholding
their fearful end, went off, in all haste, to Treen, there remained
till morning ; then they and many others went down to the Cove,
and on the spot where the two men were burned, not a sign of
them was to be seen : all their ashes, even, were blown away.

Now, when folks came to think of Captain Black's strange
career and stranger departure, many believed that he was either
an evil spirit in human form or else a man possessed with a devil,
and it remained undecided by the people of the West, whether
he was man or demon, or a compound of both. Yet, in all
probability, this strange being was only mad at times, and his
sudden exit, might have been a case of spontaneous combustion,
(if indeed, there be such a thing.) Many of those who in former
times were believed to be demoniacs, witches, or wizards, would,
if they lived and played their pranks at the present day, be
simply regarded as lunatics and most interesting cases for the
medical student rather than for the rude treatment of in-
quisitor, exorcist, or other priestly operator. We hear but little
more of Nelly. Her son purchased a farm, in St. Just, she
removed thither with him, and ended her days in peace. Some
descendants of the rover, (whose name we have abridged) were
living in the western parishes a few years since.

About a century ago an aged dame of the family kept school
in Burian Church-town and used frequently to relate strange
traditions of her buccaneering ancestor.

THE WITCH OF BURIAN CHURCH-TOWN.

These midnight hags,

By force of potent spells, of bloody characters,
And conjurations, horrible to hear,
Call fiends and spectres from the yawning deep,
And set the ministers of hell at work.

EOWE. — "Jane Shore."

Who rides my horse a' nights,
Who lamed the miller's boy,

Who raised the wind that blew my old barn roof down ;
But I've a silver bullet ready for her that will lame her,
Hobble how she will. — Old Song.

BOUT the time of Captain Black's exit old Betty Tre-
noweth from her superstitious usages and pretensions
to mysterious science, became notorious as a witch,
and her practice of the black art was discovered and
put past doubt by some one in Church-town, against
whom she had a grudge. A man, finding when all attempts to
please old Betty failed, that his cattle still pined off their legs, and
everything went wrong, and that there was nothing but bad luck
about house and land. Then he or his wife determined to punish
the witch and bring her to reason. He made her image in clay
or dough, we have forgotten which, and, when the figure was
fashioned to their mind, ran up a good long skewer through the
lower part of its body. Now, that they might know the effect of
their counter-spell, some persons in the plot, entered the witch's
dwelling, at the moment the skewer pierced her effigy, and saw
her fall suddenly on the ground, where she continued rolling,
kicking, and groaning in great agony for some minutes, when she
exclaimed, "Good Lord, what's in my body? I can hold out no
longer ; do run over to Dick Angwin's and tell am I'll make et up
weth am ef he will!" Fearing the witch might die in her agony
and leave her curse on them or the spell unbroken, they hastened
to make friends with Betty and destroyed the image.

60 THE WITCH OF BTJRYAN CHURCH-TOWN.

Yet this punishment didn't make the old dame desist from
carrying on her naughty tricks ; for, one Thursday about the end
of harvest, Betty jogged away to Penzance, intending to buy a
pig that she might fatten it for winter's use. She was in price,
and had nearly come to terms for one which suited her fancy.
There were only a few pence between her and the seller ; yet,
pretending she didn't care about it, and saying she wouldn't give
a farthing more, she turned her back and went to look at some
others. That while, one Tom Trenoweth, a cousin of her's,
offered a trifle more and purchased the sow.

Tom had paid the " earnest money," when the old dame came
back and said she would have the sow. " You're to late, cousin,"
said Tom, " I've bought her." "And what made thee interfeer,
I'd like to know, when I was in price for the sow ? " said Betty ;
" ef I don't have her thee shust wish thy cake dough, and find
the sow the dearest bargain thee hast ever had." Tom refused to
give up his purchase. Betty went off mumbling threats and
curses, and snaking her bony finger at Tom.

With much ado, the man got home the sow, put her in a crow
(sty), filled the pig's-trough with wash, and firmly fastened the
door. Tom rose early next morning, and found the crow-door
open, the pig's-trough full of wash and his sow rooting in a
neighbour's garden ; and it took all the men and boys in Church-
town many hours to get the troublesome beast of a sow back into
her crow again ; and in spite of all he could do, scarce a night
passed but she would get out, be off to lanes miles away, and do
some mischief that Tom would have to pay for.

Months passed, during which the sow had given to her corn,
meal, milk, and everything else that could be thought of to satisfy
her, but all without avail — the more she ate the leaner and more
lanky she became. One day Old Betty met the owner of the pig
and said, quite friendly-like, "well, cousin Tom, how es thy sow
getting on ? Will she be fat against Christmas ? I hear she is
very troublesome ; perhaps you had better sell her to me. What
do 'e look for her now ? "

"No," Tom replied, "ef she esn't fat for seven years, in
Sundays, you shall never be the better off for begrudging her to
me ; old black-witch that you are ; I'll drive her to Penzance and
sell her for less than I gave, rather than you shall have her."

More months passed, during which the old woman, in spite of
Tom's rebuffs, made him various offers for the sow, but every time
less than the preceeding, as she said the pig was getting poorer
and would soon be reduced to skin and bone. Tom, finding that
his sow had eaten and destroyed more than she was worth, and
all the time getting leaner, fastened a rope to her log and started
early one Thursday morning for Penzauce, determined to sell her

TOM TBENOWETH'S sow. 61

for anything he might be offered rather than bring her back
again. The sow went on, quiet as a lamb, till she came to a
stream running across the road in Bojew-bottom ; there was no
bridge over Bojew water in Tom's time. The sow wouldn't take
to the water, nor could the man make her ; he tried to put her
across, wheel-barrow fashion, holding her up by the hind legs ;
then he endeavoured to drag her through the water, but she
turned right around, bolted in between his legs, upset him in the
muddy stream, and the rope slipping from his hand, she took her
way up the moors, over hedges and ditches. Tom followed her,
through bogs, brambles, and furze for many miles, till they came
out in Leah lanes on the Land's End road to Penzance and
Sancreed ; the sow seemingly never the worse. But Tom
felt very tired, and his clothes were torn to rags with the
thickets.

The sow, now on the road to Penzance, and near Tregonebris
Downs, went along so quietly that Tom caught hold of the rope
again, made a running noose in the end of it, and (that she
mightn't jerk it away again,) passed it over his hand and reeved
it round his wrist. That being done to his mind, ' ' Now, ah es
much to me," says Tom to himself, or to the sow, " late as et es,
ef I don't get 'e to market yet." He hadn't spoken the words a
minute when a hare leaped out of a bush beside the road, made
a squeak that sounded like " chee-ah ! " ran down over the moor,
the sow followed after, dragging Tom along, and never stopped,
going almost as fast as the hare, till she came to Tregonebris
bridge, when in under the road she bolted, so far as the rope
would let her. The opening under the road being little other
than a drain, or "bolt," as we say, Tom couldn't even crawl in
on all-fours, his arm was almost dragged out of joint, and the
loop, reeved on his wrist, cutting through the skin ; Tom by good
luck having his knife in his pocket, managed to get at it, cut the
rope, and let the sow go ; but she only went as far as the middle
of the bridge, where it was narrowest, and fell to lie in the
water.

Tom could neither drive nor coax his pig from under the road.
He threw all the stones he could find at her till he had nearly
closed up the bridge on one side, but she hardly noticed him.
with a grunt.

About noon Tom got very hungry ; yet he was afraid to leave
his sow and go to the nearest house, that he might have some-
thing to eat, because whilst he was out of sight the devil- directed
pig might bolt away, no one could tell whither. Tom sat down
beside the bridge, wishing some one might go by or heave in
sight within call. He had to wait there till near sunset, when
who should come by, from Tregonebris way, but Old Betty, with

62 THE WITCH OF BURYAN CHURCH-TOWN.

her basket on her arm and knitting-stocking in her hand. She
came on clicking her needles, knitting all the way, and looking
as demure as if " butter wouldn't melt in her mouth and cheese
choke her." When she saw Tom sitting beside the road she
seemed all surprised like, and said "Arrea ! cousin, es that you ?
Have 'e sold the sow and got drunk on the profit, that you have
missed your way back, an soas ? "

"Well, Old Betty, es that thee? I must say that thee hast
beaten me hollow, ' ' Tom replied. ' ' The sow is under the ' brudge, '
and thee dust know it well enow ; for who but thee crossed the
road and went over the moor in the shape of a hare ? Thy friend,
the devil, lent thee his hounds, I suppose, to drive her in where
she can neither turn, go forth, nor come back, et seems to me."

"Well, thank the powers," said she, according to her custom,
when anyone came to grief, " I am' at the only one in trouble this
day ; but as you are a cousin of my own, I'll give 'e the value of
the sow still, and that es about half of what she cost 'e, because
she's now gone to skin and bone, et will take months to get her
up again."

" If you will give me something from your basket to eat, and
what you last offered, you may take her, get her out ef you can,
and be d d to 'e."

But no, the old witch stood out, and wouldn't give a farthing
more than half of what Tom paid for the sow ; and he was glad
at last, to get that and a two-penny loaf which she took from her
basket. Then the dame went down to the mouth of the bridge,
or bolt, only just said " Chee-ah ! Chee-ah ! " and the sow came
out and followed her home like a dog.

Tom took the road to Sancras Church-town, and stayed at
" The Bird in hand " as long as his money lasted. " It was no
good to lay by ; he might as well spend it first as last," he said,
"because every shilling of the devil's coin will go and take nine
more with it." All who heard Tom's story agreed that what
seemed a hare, to cross his path, was no other than Old Betty in
that shape, and wished they could send a silver bullet through
her. It is said here as elsewhere that lead has no effect on a
witch-hare. The old woman kept her pig many years for a store-
sow and she became the parent of a numerous progeny.

THE STORY OF MADAM NOY.

After Betty had gained her ends with Tom Trenoweth, nobody
ventured to deny her anything she coveted except Madam Noy,
of Pendre. From the little known of this lady, she seems to
have been a strong-minded close-fisted termagant. She was fond
of going to law, and had always suits on hand concerning the
bounds and common rights of her lands. She is said also to
have kept the best hunter and hounds in the West Country, and
that she coursed with them daily as she rode over her farms,
across hedges and ditches, to inspect her work-people and stock.
We suppose she was a widow then, or if she had a husband he
made too little noise in his time to be remembered. She took great
pride in her poultry ; above all, in her rare breed of hens with
large tufts or crops on their heads. Now Betty knew that Madam
had often refused to give or sell any eggs from her coppies to her
best friends, yet one morning early she put on her steeple-crown
hat and mantle, took her basket and stick, hobbled down to
Pendre, and seated herself on a style entering the town-place.
In a few minutes she saw Madam Noy come from the barn with
a bowl of corn in her hands to feed her poultry of all sorts and
sizes. " Q-ood morrow to your honour," said Betty, as she went
up curtseying and nodding to Madam, " Dear me, how well you
are lookan, you're gettan to look younger and younger I do
declare, and what beautiful hens, ducks, and geese, you've got !
The finest in the parish I do believe. Do 'e know, Madam
dear, that I've got an old cluckan hen that I should like to put
to set, ef you would spare me a dozen eggs, the sort of your
coppies I'd like best." "Arrea"! Betty, I suppose you would,"
said Madam, ' ' but I've no eggs to spare from my hens with cops
nor the ones without, while I've so many of my own clucking
hens about. And dust thee think, than, that when I've refused
to sell any of my new sort to my own sister Dame Pendar, or to
my cousin Madam Trezillian, that I would spare them to the
likes of you?" "I don't care a cuss whether you do or no,"
Betty replied, but if you won't sell me some eggs you shall wish
your cake dough." "Now go thee way'st home thou deceitful

64 THE "WITCH OP BURYAH" CHURCH-TOWN.

old bitch," said the lady in a rage, " and what business hast thee
here pryan about the place and covetan all thee cust spy witih
thy evil eye, I'd like to know. Begone, or I'll set the dogs at
thee, and throw fire over thee, dosn't think that I'm afraid of
thy witchcraft."

"I am on the church-road through the town-place, said Betty,
and here I will stop as long as I like in spite of you and your
lawyers too." Madam Noy and Betty continued their threats
and abuse until the lady became so enraged, at the old woman's
persistence to stay in her town-place, that she snatched up a
stone, threw it at Betty, and hit her right on her noddle, with a
blow that made her jaws rattle. Betty limped to the stile
mumbling to herself, ' ' now may the devil help me and by all that's
evil here I will rest till I've curst thee to my heart's content."
Standing on the stile she pointed her finger at Madam Noy and
made the lady ' shake in her shoes ; ' whilst she nodded her
head, waved her out-stretched hand, and ill-wished her by
saying,—

" Mary Noy, thou ugly, old, and spiteful plague,
I give thee the collick, the palsy, and ague.
All the eggs thy fowls lay, from this shall be addle,
All thy hens hare the pip and die with the straddle.
And before nine moons have come and gone,
Of all thy coppies there shan't live one :
Thy arm and thy hand, that cast the stone,
Shall wither and waste to skin and bone."

Madam Noy was never well from that day, her fowls' eggs
were always bad, and all Betty's spells took effect. Before six
months were past she lost her coppies every one ; for, in place of
gay tufts of feathers, the chickens' brains came out on all those
hatched from her coppies' eggs.

A noted old droll-teller and clock-cleaner of Sancreed, called
Billy Foss, used to recite this, and many other stories, in a sort
of doggrel, in which he mostly half said and half sung his drolls.
We remember but little more of Billy's verse, in this story, than
the few lines given above; these are enough, however, for a
sample of the kind of composition that was much in vogue with
our old droll-tellers.

"Xis said that Betty owed her proficiency in the black art to
her frequent conferences with Old Nick, (or her familiar, what-
ever his name might have been,) who almost nightly took the
form of An' Mally Perase's black bull, and, under that shape,
met the witch on the northern side of Burian churchyard. Much
more is related of Betty"s transactions, but nothing new in the
annals of witchcraft ; and enough has been stated to serve as an

A MODERN SANCREED WITCH. 65

example of the faith and practices in such matters long ago ;
indeed, we may say that such beliefs and doings are anything
but extinct ; something turns up, every now and then, to show
that, notwithstanding all the teaching and preaching, faith in
witchcraft, and other dreary superstitions, are nearly as rife as
ever.

We give the following instance as just related.

A MODERN SANCREED WITCH.

Only t'other day a farmer of Sancreed had three or four dairy-
cows to let, and a woman who lived near by offered to take them,
but as he didn't altogether like this woman he wouldn't close the
bargain with her, and another neighbour soon agreed for the
dairy. When the woman heard who had been preferred, she told
everybody she met with that Jemmy — the man who took the cows —
should rue the day that he ventured to cross her path. " For if
I didn't know the right hour and minute," said she, "I would
ill wish him every minute of the day till the spell was cast." A
week or so after the first cow was in milking, Jemmy and his
wife came to the farmer's house one night and said, " we believe
that our cow must be ill-wished, for her milk is all bucked and
gone to cruds (curds), with only a mere skin of cream on the
pans ; if you don't believe it come and see for yourself." The
farmer and some of his family went home with the dairy-man,
and found the milk like it often is in summer when the buck
(spittle-fly) is on the grass, that, so it is believed, makes milk
curdle then without becoming sour. The farmer and his wife
couldn't tell what to think of milk being in that state early ill
spring ; he took home the cow, however, and let the dairy-man
have another, and when she was milked by Jemmy her milk
'runned' too, like that of the former one, which was then all right
in the master's dairy. And so it continued with all the other
cows Jemmy had ; it was only for a day now and then, that any
cream rose ; other things went wrong with him and his family,
and the farmer was at last obliged to take back his cows because
there was no chance of his dairy-man making the rent. Mean-
while the woman who coveted them bragged how she had served
Jemmy out for interfering.

" The very night I heard that he had took the cows," said she,
"I went on my knees under a white-thorn tree by the cross-
roads, and there, for best part of that night, I called on the

66 A MODERN SANCREED WITCH.

powers till they helped me to cast the spells that gave old
Jemmy and his family plenty of junket and sour milk for a time."
In fact she was proud to make her neighbours believe her to be
a witch.

We suppose the reason why this would-be witch chose the
cross-road thorn as a suitable place for her hellish work, was
because many such trees are said to have sprung from stakes
driven into suicides' graves ; also on account of those sites being
often visited by Old Nick and his headless dogs when they take
their nightly rounds to see if any spirits have wandered from
their assigned resting-places.

We may remark that, although the Black-huntsman's hounds
are said to have neither heads nor tails, yet according to our
popular mythology, they are believed to have the former appen-
dages, with the same lineaments they bore when they dwelt on
earth in human forms, but they make their heads invisible, to
ordinary mortals, that they may not be known.

The same applies to apparently headless coach-drivers, horses,
&c., that were frequently seen in old times.

A QUEEN'S VISIT TO BARANHUAL.

At all feasts where ale was strongest,
Sat this gracious Queen the longest,
First to come and last to go.

LONGFELLOW, slightly altered.

jHEEE is a tradition, — that has taken the form of a
droll, as it is related by old people of Buryan, — which
sayeth that when the Pendars lived in grand style, in
Baranhual, a Queen and her retinue landed from a
Man-of-war, at Moushal, for the sake of seeing the
Logan Hock and Land's End. News of the intended trip soon
spread, and reached Buryan ere sufficient horses could be procured
to furnish out the cavalcade. On the morning of the royal
progress, work was at a stand still, and nearly all who could
"lift a leg" started off from house and field towards Burian
Church-town, as it was rumoured that Her Majesty intended
to inspect Buryan Church on her way. So, in the morning
early, Buryan bells were set a ringing ; and Church-town folks
arrayed themselves in their best to receive the Queen with due
honours.

Every soul left Baranhual except old Dame Pendar, who was
rather infirm. "My lady, the Queen," said she, "is but a
woman, and make the most of her, even if she do wear a crown
on her head every day of her life, with velvet robes all broider'd
in gold, silk stockings, and diamond-buckles on her satin shoes,
with rings on her fingers and bells on her toes, yet she's much
like myself under all her fine clothes ; and it esn't worth while to
leave the house alone, and all that's in it, and go so far to see
her at my time of life ; besides there's the milk to scald and many
jobs to be done at all hours. No, verily," said she to her son
and his wife, " you may be off to Church-town with the scabble-
angow (rag, tag, and bob-tail), but, indeed, I'll stay home and
guard the house, and all that's in it. That shall never be left
alone whilst I draw breath."

68 A QUEEN'S VISIT TO BARANHTTAL.

• At that time the Pendars kept a capstan in repair, and gave
other aids to the fishery at Penberth, — which is partly in Barau-
hual ground, — and received for it a certain portion of fish from
the owners of each boat kept in the cove.

An hour or so after all the household, but old mistress, had
started off to behold a queen, An' Joan Taskes came up from
Peuberth with a cowal full of fish, as the Squire's dues from all
the boats which landed that morning. Madam told An' Joan to
take the fish to the river, and that she would be down in a
minute to help clean them. Before Joan had taken all out
of her cowal, and laid them on the stepping-stones, that stood
in the water where Baranhual bridge now crosses it, old mistress
arrived, knife in hand, ready to help clean and split her fish.
They had nearly finished their job, — the old lady standing on a
stepping-stone, with her skirts tucked up to her knees, taking the
fish from An' Joan, who waded in the stream to give them a last
rinsing, — when the old fishwife, on hearing a clatter of horses'
hoofs coming down hill, looked up, turned round, and bawled
out, "Can I believe my eyes; look 'e mistress, dear; ef I live,
there's hundreds of kings and queens ridan down the hill. I can
see more than a score, and there's more a coman round the
turnan ; pull down your petticoats, do ! Oh, I wish to gracious
I had a clean towser on, and my best hat."

Before old Joan had ceased exclaiming, and fixing herself as
tidy as she could — though Madam Pendar, intent on the fish,
didn't notice her commotion — a score or so of ladies and gentle-
men on horseback, were Avithin a stone's-cast. They drew reins,
and a horseman started forward, rode down into the water,
accosted the old lady, enquired if Squire Pendar lived in the
house on the hill, and informed the wondering women that Her
Majesty, on her route to the Logan Rock, well remembering that
the Pendars had always been staunch friends to the royal cause,
had preferred coming that way to give him a visit, instead of
seeing Buryan Church, which Her Majesty and her attendants
might have a glance at on their return from the Land's End.
Madam replied that she was very glad to see "my lady, the
Queen ; " and was sorry that her son and his wife, with all their
servants, were gone to pay their respects to Her Majesty in
Church-town, as everybody said that was the intended route, and
nobody home but Tierself to receive them.

"My royal mistress approaches to speak for herself," said he.

Madam, was still standing on a stone, knife in hand, her coats
tucked up, and kirtle drawn through her apron-string, when the
Queen, understanding that her gentleman was speaking to no
less a person than Madam Pendar, rode into the water, shook
hands with her, and said, "If all aje gone to see the Queen and left

LOYAL HEARTS. 69

'e alone, the Queen is come to see you ; and I, and my attendants,
would be glad to rest a while to have something to eat, and to
mend the rents in our clothes that are torn to 'skethans' with
thorns and brambles that overhang the narrow lanes." "The
Lord love 'e, my dear lady, the Queen," exclaimed she, making a
low curtsey, and quite overcome with honour. " Do 'e put your
hand, now — as mine, on that side, is fishy and wet — into my left
pocket, take out the key of the fore-door, and my huzzey (house-
wife) you will find in it needles and thread of all colours, ride up
to the house, let yourselves in, and I'll follow with the fish, and
do the best we can to entertain 'e." " We should like nothing
so much as some of that nice fish, draining on the stones," said
the Queen, in trying to get a key, large enow for a church-door,
out of Madam's pocket. " Bless your life, and you shall have
them," replied the old lady. " I am so flambustered (confounded)
with the honour you have done me, that I hardly know which
end I stand upon. But you will want my scissors, pieces of stuff,
and other things in my pockets, for mending," continued she, in
untying the string from around her waist, that kept up her
pockets ; " take them all as they are ; you will find most every-
thing in them."

The precious pockets, like knapsacks, were handed to a
gentleman who slung them across his saddle-bow, and the Queen
rode on well pleased with Dame Pendar.

Joan stood gaping and staring, nodding and smiling, without
speaking a word, though many spoke to her ; but their backs
were no sooner turned than she said, "Why, mistress, dear, can
you make out their lingo ? Can that lady, who spoke to 'e, be a
Queen ? Why, where' s her crown ? It wasn't upon her head,
I'm sure." " Cease thy clack, be quick and gather up the fish,"
Madam replied ; " she put her crown in her pocket, I suppose,
that the thorns might' nt sweep it off her head and under the
horses' feet ; thee west see her wearing of it when she's seated in
the great parlour, by and bye, eating bread and honey : I'm glad,
though, thee hast brought up a lot of nice mullett, bass, whiting-
pullocks, and other fish for pies and frying, besides good large
cod and ling for boiling."

When Dame Pendar and Joan got up to the house, they
found the Queen and her ladies in the parlour busy sewing up
rents in their garments ; and the gentlemen — having stabled
their horses — had made a blazing fire on the hearth. A large
brass brewing-pan was placed on a brandes (trivet) ; pounds of
butter and lard cast into it, and the nicest frying-fish cooked
therein.

Mullet-and-parsley pies were put to bake on the hearth ; large
fishes boiled, and conger stewed, with fennel, in as many crocks

70 A QTTEEN'S VISIT TO BARANHUAL.

and kettles as it would contain, with other things. Ladies and
gentlemen — Queen and all — helped : some got the best pewter
platters, plates, and flagons — only used on grand occasions —
out of a chest, those on dressers and shelves, for ordinary use,
wern't half enough ; others peeled garlic and hollick, chopped
fennel, tarragon, and other herbs to flavour sauces. Several
tried to grind mustard, but none could give the right motion to
their knees to make the bullet spin round in the bowl, and old
mistress was obliged to grind it all, or have it spoiled. They
dished up fried and boiled fish, swimming in butter ; bowls of
cream were poured into the pies ; lucky, too, Madam had a batch
of barley bread just baked, hot and hot.

Two gentlemen placed a high-backed carved oak chair, with
several pillows thereon, at the head of the hall table, and Her
Majesty was seated in as much state as she desired. They ate,
one and all, with such an appetite, as if they hadn't tasted "meat"
for a week, so old Joan Taskes said. The Queen imbibed old
ale from a silver goblet ; her ladies from pewter tankards and
flagons ; her gentlemen drank beer and cider from black-jacks
and brown-georges (leather drinking vessels), which were often
replenished.

Wasn't Dame Pendar delighted to see it all, as she bustled
about to help Her Majesty to all sorts of sauces, of her own
compounding. Indeed it was, as she said, "the proudest day of
her life." She was, above all, elated when her royal guest
smacked her lips after a sip of brandy, and swore, ' ' by cock and
and pie," that " true as she was a sinner, never before, in all her
born days, had she so much enjoyed a repast."

When the Queen and her ladies returned to the parlour, Dame
Pendar placed before them white bread, cream and honey,
brandy, sweet-drink (metheglin), and other cordials, of which
they all partook with great pleasure. Having mended their
garments, the ladies thought it full time to proceed on their
journey, if they were to see the Logan Rock and Land's End
that day.

But Her Majesty, bless her honest heart, was so well pleased
with her entertainment that she preferred to stay there with old
Dame Pendar till her attendants returned ; so they, with her
permission, rode away to Castle-Treen.

When the Queen's suite had departed, Dame Pendar produced
from her own private cupboard, a bottle of rare old mead, and a
flask of extra strong brandy, for Her Majesty to taste; and she,
liking them well, drank glass upon glass of mead, with several
sips of brandy, to keep the fish from "flowing on her stomach,"
and to show their loving regard for each other, they exchanged
all the contents of their pockets for keepsakes ; yea, every item,

HER MAJESTY'S RETURN. 71

except their crooked sixpences, which they kept for good luck.

At length the Queen, feeling drowsy, reclined in a long
window-seat, thence rolled on the floor, where *he lay puffing
and snoring, unable to rise. Dame Pendar, by so often drinking
" Here's health and long life to 'e, my dear lady, the Queen,"
was too fuddled to help her up, so she lay down with her for
company ; and old Joan, who had been sipping of all sorts, and
drinking everybody's health, was stretched under the kitchen
table.

The Queen's attendants, having passed hours in viewing the
Logan Rock and other wonders of Castle-Treen, 'eouranted' about
amongst the rocks, where they found pleasant places for courting,
till nearly sunset. They then, concluding it was too late for going
to the Land's End, mounted and returned to Baranhual, that
they might wait on their royal mistress, and reach. Moushal in
time to be on board before dark. They galloped away in hot
haste, expecting to find Her Majesty impatiently awaiting their
return ; but, sad to say, they found her — all her state forgotten —
lying helpless on the floor, beside Dame Pendar. The royal
lady was hastily lifted on her palfrey ; Joan Taskes — now the
least drunk of the three — helped to fasten a giss (hempen girth)
across her Majesty's lap, to keep her safe in the saddle, and they
quickly departed.

Now it so happened that Squire Pendar, his wife, and their
servants, tired waiting for the Queen, in Church-town, till near
night, returned home across the fields, Selena way, arrived at the
Green-court gate just in time to catch a glimpse of Her Majesty
under the trees that darkened the avenue. He had the merest
glance of her going down hill with her head drooping over
her horse's mane, and a gentleman holding her steady; and
that's the last seen of her in Buryan. Squire Pendar, his wife,
and their servants were all rather muddled too, from having passed
all day at Church-town with hundreds of gentle and simple, in
drinking " Here's to the Queen and ourselves, comrades ; " yet
he and his wife expressed great surprise and ill-humour at
finding their house all in disorder.

Joan told them how they all enjoyed their entertainment.
" Bad luck to them all ! " murmured he ; " our cellar-floor is like
mud with spilt liquor, and not a gallon of beer or cider left in
the casks. What mother said was true enow ; the Queen, for all
her fine clothes, is much like another woman, especially when
drunk." Next morning he could hardly be persuaded that Her
Majesty had been there at all, till his mother showed him what
fine things she had as keepsakes. " My thimble, as thou knowest,
was brass," said she, " and my bodkin silver ; but see, here's my
gracious lady's silver thimble and golden bodkin:" then, with

72 A QUEEN'S VISIT TO BABANHTJAL.

great pride, drawing from her pocket the Queen's huzzey, she
continued "if anything more is wanted to assure thee how I've
been honoured by my gracious lady, behold this! " She then
displayed what one may conjecture to have been a remarkable
contrivance for containing many requisites of a lady's work-box
or bag, and several toilet articles besides. It was a yard long
when unfolded ; every little pocket and flap of a different sort of
rich stuff, all worked in elegant designs, with gold and silver
thread, coloured silks, intermixed with pearls and precious stones,
or what passed for such. It folded into strong leather covers,
fastened with silver clasps like a book ; and the upper cover was
lined with a mirror.

Hundreds of people came to see it suspended, at full length,
the looking-glass at top, over the parlour fire-place, where it was
kept in remembrance of the Queen's visit.

The shell-room was built after, and some say is was intended
to commemorate that honour. This apartment was incrusted with
shells, — mostly from Parcurnow. Among other devices, a cavalier
was pourtrayed, as if pursued by robbers ; and under this shell-
picture, the legend, — "This is the heir, come let us slay him,
that the inheritance may be ours."

We have frequently remarked to old persons, who related the
above story, that nothing is said in any county or other history
of a Queen having visited Baranhual. ' ' Perhaps your history-
makers never heard of it," they reply : "no one belonging to
Buryan saw her plainly, that's true, except the two old women."
Squire Pendar and his servants only had a glimpse in the
twilight of a company on horseback passing down the road, which
was then overhung with large spreading sycamores, — three rows
of them on each side, — which soon hid his royal guests. But
the Pendars, even in our time, poor as they were, — many of them
labourers and fishermen, — had always preserved something
among them that the Queen was said to have left with old
Madam hundreds of years ago ; and all of the name, that we
have met with, say that Pendre, Baranhual, Trevider, and other
lands in Buryan, once belonged to their forefathers.

\
THE SMALL PEOPLE'S Cow.

They are fairies ; he that speaks to them shall die.
I'll wink and couch ; no man their works must eye.

Merry Wives of Windsor.

)HERE is a story connected with the Pendars which
says that, when this family was on its wane, the
owner of Baranhual had a fine red cow, called Rosy,
which gave twice as much milk as an ordinary one.
She retained her milk-yielding power all the year
through, and kept in good condition, even in winter, when other
cattle on better food were reduced to skin and bone. Rosy would
yield all her morning's milk, but every evening when much —
and that the richest — still remained in her udder, she would
stop chewing her cud, cock her ears, low gently as if calling a
calf, and the "shower" of milk would cease. If the maid
attempted to renew her milking Molly would kick the bucket
and gallop away to a remote part of the field.

Dame Pendar, thinking the milkmaid didn't shake Rosy's bag
and coax her enough, tried, one evening, what she could do, but
when she thought by " visting" Molly's teats to get more milk,
after the cow's usual signal to cease, she up foot and smashed the
wooden pail to pieces, tossed Dame Pendar over her back, and,
bellowing, raced away — tail on end.

Though Rosy kept in milk when all other cows were " gone to
sew " (dry), yet, because there was something strange about her
and as she was always fit for the butchers, an attempt was made,
soon after the dame's tossing, to get her to market ; but all the
people on Barauhual couldn't drive her off the farm.

Over a while Rosy had a heifer calf, and when it had sucked
its fill, its dam gave her usual quantity of milk into the bucket,
and then enough remained to fill another. Stranger still, in a
few weeks the calf could eat herbage, and its dam weaned it
gradually, but it could never be separated from her.

Everything prospered with Mr. Pendar. His cattle and crops
throve wonderfully, till one Midsummer's night. His milkmaid

74 THE SMALL PEOPLE'S COW.

having gone to games held at Penberth, or some place near it,
only returned when the stars began to blink. Rosy, impatient
to be milked, came to meet her in the field, stood still, placed
back her leg, chewed her cud, and showered her milk into the
bucket till she had yielded more than usual : then she stretched
herself, looked around, and gently lowed whilst the maid, with-
out rising from her milking-stool, pulled up a handful of grass,
rolled it into a pad and placed it inside her hat, that she might
carry her bucket the steadier. Having put on her hat she was
surprised to see hundreds of "Small People" (fairies) around
the cow, and on her back, neck, and head. A great number of
little beings — as many as could get under Rosy's udder at once —
held butter-cups, and other handy flowers or leaves, twisted into
drinking vessels, to catch the shower of milk that fell among
them, and some sucked it from clover-blossoms. As one set
walked off satisfied, others took their places. They moved about
so quickly that the milkmaid's head got almost "light" whilst
she looked at them. "You should have seen," said the maid
afterwards, " how pleased Rosy looked, as she tried to lick those
on her neck who scratched her behind her horns, or picked ticks
from her ears ; whilst others, on her back smoothed down every
hair of her coat. They made much of the calf, too ; and, when
they had their fill of milk, one and all in turn brought their
little arms full of herbs to Rosy and her calf, — how they licked all
up and looked for more ! "

Some little folks, who came late, were mounted on hares,
which they left to graze a few yards from the cow.

For a good while the milkmaid stood, with the bucket on her
head, like one spell-bound, looking at the Small People ; and
she would have continued much longer to admire them, but, just
as some came within a yard of her, Dame Pendar suddenly stood
up on the field-hedge and called to know how she was so long
about Rosy, and had all the rest still to milk, and how she hadn't
brought in a bucket-full yet ?

At the first sound of old Dame Pendar' s voice, the Small
People pointed their fingers and made wry faces at her ; then off
galloped Rosy and the troop of small folks with her — all out
of sight in a wink.

The maid hastened in, and told her mistress, and master too,
what she had seen.

"Ah! fax, I knowed," said Dame Pendar to her husband,
" and didn't I always tell 'e something was the matter that Rosy
wouldn't yield half her milk. And surely," she continued to the
milkmaid, "thou must have a four-leaved-clover, about thee;
give me the wad in thy hat that I may look through it."

She examined it, and sure enough, found a stem of white

THE SMALL PEOPLE DRIVEN AWAY. 75

clover, or three-leaved grass, with four leaves on it.

The mistress asked how big the Small People were, and how
dressed.

" But few of them are more than half a yard or so high," the
maid replied ; " the women not so tall, yet they looked beautiful,
all dressed like gentry; the women wore gowns as gay as a
flower-garden in summer ; their flaxen hair fell, in long curls, on
their necks; and the men were very smart, all like sodjers or
huntsmen, so it seemed to me. But they made frightful faces at
you, and glared as if they would be the death of 'e. I shouldn't
like to be in your shoes."

" Our best cow is as bad as bewitched," said Dame Pendar to
her husband, " and what shall we do to drive the plagues of
sprites ? "

Her husband told her not to be so greedy ; for old folks said
that the Small People always brought good luck when unmolested
and their doings were not pried into by curious fools ; for his
part, he was content to leave well alone. She made no reply, but
— determined to have her way, next morning, betimes, unknown
to her good man — she trotted off to Penberth, or Treen, and
consulted a red-haired woman that Mr. Pendar couldn't " abide,"
because she was reputed, and truly, to be a witch.

"I'll drive them from our best cow, and from Baranhual, too,
if it can be done," said Dame Pendar to the hag. "Nothing-
easier," replied she, "for they can't endure the sea, nor any-
thing that comes therefrom, and, above all, they abhor salt ; so
you have only to scatter it over your cow, wash her udder in
brine or sea- water, and sprinkle it about your place."

Dame Pendar hastened home, and, without delay, powdered
Rosy with salt, bathed her udder in brine and sprinkled it about
the fields and town-place.

In the evening, betimes, she went herself to milk her best
cow, and carried two buckets, thinking they would both be filled.
Rosy, without budging, let her be seated and milk a little ; but
feeling her udder thumped, "visted," and roughly shakened,
when she withheld her flow, she kicked the pail to shivers, laid
Dame Pendar sprawling, then tossed her greedy mistress heels
over head, and galloped off, " belving " like a mad thing.

All the people in Baranhual couldn't stop her in a corner, and,
from that day, not a drop of milk did they get from her.

For days and nights she would roam about the farm, followed
by her heifer — no hedges stopped them — and both " belving,"
all the time, like cows that had lost their calves. Before
Christmas they became hair-pitched, lean, and lousy ; and all
the other cattle on Baranhual were as bad.

Mr. Pendar, being ignorant of what his wife had done, sought

76 THE SMALL PEOPLE'S COW.

aid from, and brought to his farm, all the most noted conjurers,
pellars, and white witches in the West Country to arrest the run
of bad luck that pursued everything belonging to him. They
bled his diseased cattle on straw, burned the straw and blood,
carried flaming torches of a night, around the folds. Fire was
also borne — with the sun's course — around sown fields. Bonfires
were lit, and his cattle forced through their flame. Other rites
were performed according to old usages only known to pellars.
Even his finest calf was burnt alive. But aU was of no avail.

To leave nothing undone, they cut down or rooted up all
barberry bushes, that grew about on orchard hedges and else-
where ; but Mr. Pendar' s crops were blighted all the same. In
the meantime Eosy and her heifer were seldom seen, but often
heard bellowing about Pednsawnack, over Porguarnon, or in
other dangerous cleves and unfrequented places : they couldn't
be brought into the town -place to undergo spells or counter-spells.
But when more than a year had passed, and the next Buryan
fair came round, Mr. Pendar made up his mind to sell Eosy and
her heifer. All Baranhual men and boys, with many neighbours
mustered, and after a much trouble, drove them on to the
churchtown road. But they could neither be got to fair nor
home again. After following them on horseback till night, Mr.
Pendar caught a glimpse of Eosy and her heifer racing over
Sennen Green toward Genvor Sands, and they were nevermore
seen. Dame Pendar, from the time she got kicked and tossed,
was rickety till the day of her death. The milkmaid, too, from
a spanking damsel who had her choice of sweethearts, in less
than a year became a doudy that no young man cared for or
would look at. From that time everything went wrong with the
Pendars, and, in a few generations, those of the name who
remained in Buryan hadn't an inch of land to call their own.

There are two or three versions of this story, which differ but
little from the above, except in locating the Small People's Cow
on other farms that were dwelling-places of the Pendars in olden
times.

TOM OF CHYAIWOR, THE TES--STREAITEB.
A WEST-COUNTRY Daouu

Telle us swiche thing, as may our hertea glade.
Be blithe, although thou ride upon a jade.
What though thyn horse be bothe foule and lene,'
If he wol serve thee, recke thee not a bene :
Loke that thyn herte be mery evermore.

Yes, hoste, quode he, so mote I ride or go,
But I be mery, ywis I wol be blamed.

But right anon thise gentiles gan to crie ;

Nay, let him tell us of no ribandrie,
Tel us som moral thing, that we mow lere,
Som wit, and thanne wol we gladly here.

CHACCKR.

LONG way back, in old times, when Parcurnow was
the chief port west of Hayle, and Treene a market
town, (as it had been since the castle's outer walls
were built, 'tis said), there lived in a little out-of-
the-way place known as Chyannor, a man called
Tom, with his wife — we don't know her name, more's the pity —
and their daughter Patience. When farm-work fell scant Tom
streamed for tin in moors near his dwelling ; but, the overburthen
there being deep and tin scarce, he got sick of the job, and one
day, between tilling season and harvest, knacked his bal, and
took the little tin he had raised that summer down to Treen for
sale. Many woollen-weavers and ropers lived there, and withe-
weavers (basket-makers) who made cowals (creels) that pleased
fisherwomen better than any to be got elsewhere. In Treen
market-place stood a fine broad garack-zans (holy rock). It was
nearly round, about four feet high, eight feet across, and level
as a table, except that in its upper surface shallow pits were
hollowed, and in these stream-tin, brought for sale or exchange,
was piled. Tom, having placed his tin in one of the hollows of
this stone, inquired the news, and asked how work was away in
the East Country, of merchants from Market-jew, who brought

78 TOM OF CHYANNOB.

goods in their vessels to Parcurnow, which was then clear of
sand, and the tide flowed in a deep channel up to an an old caunse
(paved road) still to be seen. The merchants told him that
streamers' work might be had in a place called Praze-an-Beeble,
a short day's journey from Market-jew. Tom, having exchanged
his tin for leather and other things, took a drink of cider with
the merchants, went home, and told his wife what he had learned.

"One must be a fool," said he, "to stay here and starve,
when two or three days' journey will take one to a land of
plenty. What do'st thee think wife ? "

" Well, good man," said she, " thee west (wilt) always have
thy own way, whatever one may say : if thee hast a mind to go
eastward, to look for work, go ! I and the maid will stay and get
our living here. But don't 'e go for a day or two, that I may
put thy clothes in order, and bake a fuggan (heavy cake) for
thee to eat on thy way. Long lanes and scant entertainment
thee west find, I expect ? "

" It will take me some days," replied he, "to go round and
wish the neighbours well, and to get my tools to-rights before I
start."

In three days Tom got his piggal (beat-axe) and visgey (pick)
cossened (re-steeled), and other tools repaired, that he intended
to take with him, and had said, " I wish 'e well, till I see 'e
again " to every body for miles round. Tom kissed the young
women, and the elderly ones kissed him, and said, " If we never
see thee again we wish thee good luck for thy courage ; but take
care thee doesn't get kidnapped and sperritted away in Market-
jew, as many a good man have been before now, and nevermore
heard of."

When all was ready for Tom's journey, his tools, provisions,
and clothes made a heavy load to travel with. In the morning,
early, he started. His wife and daughter went many miles on
the way, carrying his things, till they arrived at a public house
where the roads meet in a place since called Catch-all. Here
they had a drop to cheer their hearts. "Be sure, wife," said
Tom, "to take care of our only child, Patience. She is but
fifteen, mind." After much kissing, crying, wishes for good
luck, and a speedy return, they parted.

Tom reached Market-jew before dark, and was much bewildered
to see so large a place and so many people. Moes-hal was the
largest town he had seen, and the farthest east he had ever been
till then. As it happened to be Whitsun market, streamers in
great numbers had brought their tin for sale or to exchange
for clothing and other things. It was sold by measure, from a
pottle to a strike (bushel). Large quantities were purchased by
smelters and merchants. What with foreign traders, market-

FINDS WOEK. 79

people, pilgrims to the Mount, and pleasure-seekers, there was
noise and bustle enough. Tom, however, found lodgings in a
quiet house, a little out of the town, and was on his road, early
next day, towards a place where he was told that he might get
work. Though in a strange land he went boldly on over barren
hills, across deep bottoms, overgrown with thickets ; and, nothing
daunted, he waded streams of names unknown ; and indeed he
felt proud, as a traveller, to think that he was going farther east
from home than but few of St. Levan had ever been. Thus
trudging along he passed over Boost Common, through Colenso
and Chypraze, traversed Godolphin hills, rested some time near
Godolphin stepping-stones, and then pursued his way through
Chywhella, and over Crenver Downs. About sunset he passed
this tract of moorland, rich in tin, and arrived at a dwelling
surrounded with a court and outbuildings that showed it was a
farmer's house. This he afterwards learnt was Penthoga.

He knocked at the door and said to the mistress, who opened
it, "I have travelled from far away in the West Country, to
seek work, and would be glad to lodge in your barn to night."

" Come in, good man ; lay down your burthen and sit at the
board," said she.

" What cheer, stranger ? " exclaimed the farmer ; " come here
beside me, and when supper is over we will hear the news from
your country. And wife, bring a flagon of ale ; that's better
drink after a journey than milk," continued he, whilst heaping
Tom's trencher from a huge steaming pie of hare, beef, and
other meat.

Having made a hearty meal Tom turned his leg over the form
and, looking towards the farmer, said, " This is a house of plenty,
master. I wish you wanted a servant."

" Well, my son, and what work can you do ? " asked the
farmer.

" All sorts of husbandry or moor- work," he replied. " Give
me a board like this, to keep up my strength, and I'll turn my
back for no man."

After some hours' talk about Tom's country, and other matters,
the farmer, finding him to be a simple, honest fellow, agreed to
take him, and they bargained for two pounds a year wages.
Now, as Tom didn't mind doing a trifle of work, after his day's
task was done, the farmer gave him many odd pence. After
supper of winters' nights master and men told old drolls and
carded wool, whilst mistress and her maids kept their turns
(spinning wheels) going till they had each spun their pound of
yarn. The women knitted for him warm stockings, and washed
and mended his clothes. All were well pleased with Tom, and he
liked his place.

80 TOM OF CHYANTTOR.

When the year was ended, the farmer brought two pounds
from his chest, laid them on the board, and, showing them to
Tom, who sat opposite, said " Here are your wages, my son; but
if you will give them back to me I will teach 'e a piece of
wisdom more worth than silver and gold."

"Give them here to me," said Tom, "and keep your penny-
worth of wit."

"No," said his master, "give them to me, and I will tell
thee."

" Well take them to thee," said Tom.

Then said his master, " Take care never to lodge in a house where
an old man is married to a young woman"

Then they bargained for another year, and, when that was
ended, his master brought two pounds ; laying them on the
table, as before, he said " See, Tom, here are thy wages ; but if
thou wilt give them back to me I will teach thee another piece
of wisdom."

" No, by dad," answered he ; " hand them here to me ; I don't
want your pennyworth of wit."

" No," said his master, " give them to me, and I will tell thee
a piece of wisdom more worth than strength."

" Take them to thee," said Tom.

Then said his master, "Take care never to leave an old road for a
new one"

They bargained for another year.

Tom now thought much of his wife and daughter, and made
up his mind to return home when his time was up. Next year
ended, his master brought the two pounds, and said, " See here
are thy wages ; but if thou wilt give them back again to me I
will teach thee the best point of wisdom of all."

" No bring them here ; I have wit enow to find my road home
again."

"No," said his master, "thou wilt need it then, more than
ever. Give them to me and I will tell 'e."

" Take them to thee," said he.

"Well now, as thee hast served me truly, like an honest
fellow," said his master, " I will tell thee two points of wisdom.
First, never swear to any body or thing seen through glass; second,
be thrashed twice before content once. This is the best point of
wisdom of all."

Now Tom said he would serve no longer but leave at once and
go to see his wife and child. "No, don't go to-day," his master
answered; "for my wife is going to bake to-morrow morning;
she shall make a cake for thee to take home to thy wife, and a
hoggan (a cake with meat baked on it) for thee to eat by the
way."

HOMEVAED BOUND. 81

"Very well." said Tom, "as it's Whitsuntide, I'll wait till
Tuesday."

" I am very sorry thee art going to leave us, my son," said the
farmer's wife ; " and I should be glad if thee west thatch the
hen's house and the duck's crow for me, whilst I make thee a cake
and hoggan; then I will give thee a charmed stone for thy
daughter, that shall be of more worth to her than gold or
jewels"

In a few hours Tom thatched all the outbuildings that required
it, came into the house, and his mistress gave him a smooth grey
stone, about the size and shape of an acorn, with a hole drilled
through it, for hanging it by a cord round the neck. " Though
this appeareth only like a bit of smooth elvan (trap rock) it is a
jewel of great virtue," said the mistress. " It -will preserve any
woman that weareth it from much trouble if she but keepeth it
in her mouth, with her lips closed, that it may not drop out when
her husband or any other contend eth with her. I will tie it
round thy neck, that it may'nt be lost," said she ; and did so.

Tuesday morning Tom took leave, with many kind wishes and
promises to see them again. " Take this cake home to your wife,
my son," said his master, " and eat it when you are most merry
together." "And what you will find in this dinner-bag," said
his mistress, "is for 'e to eat on the road. Good luck attend
thee ; come to see us again ; thee west be right welcome always."

Tom trudged on for many miles a somewhat different road to
that he went, without meeting with anybody, till, having passed
.Si. Hillar downs, he fell in with three merchants of Treen,
driving before them their packhorses laden with wool from
Helaston fair, whither they had been with cloth and other
goods. " What cheer, Tom," cried they, " where hast thou been^
and how hast thou fared this long time ? We are glad to have
the sight of thee ! "

" I have been in service and am now going home to my wife ;
and glad I am to meet men of my parish," said he.

"Come along with us; right welcome thou shalt be," said
they.

They kept together and "came to Market-jew, where the
merchants proposed to sup and stay over night in a house where
they had formerly lodged. ' ' And come along with us, Tom,
right welcome thou shalt be," said they. And when they were
come to the inn, Tom said, "I don't know about stopping here ;
before settling that point, I must see the host."

" The host of the house ! " they exclaimed ; " what cans't thou
want with the host ? Here is the hostess — young and buxom, as
you may see. But if you must needs see the host, you will find
him in the kitchen."

82 TOM OF CHYANNOR.

By the kitchen fire, sitting on a three-legged stool, Tom saw
a feeble, bald-headed old man, turning the spit. " Oh ! by my
dearly bought wit, I see this is never the inn for me," said Tom,
" I will not lodge here, but in the next house."

" Go not yet," said Treen merchants ; " stay, take supper with
us, thou art heartily welcome."

Soon after supper the merchants saw their horses fed, well
groomed, and littered ; then, being tired, they went early to bed,
and Tom, on entering the next house, was told there was no
spare bed, only some straw in a garret where lumber was mostly
kept ; he might rest there and welcome, free of charge.

"I can sleep there very well," Tom answered; and the host
shewed him the place, where sweet straw was piled near a
boarding that divided it from the next house, where the Treen
merchants lodged. Now the mistress of the inn was very fond
of a young fellow who sauntered about, and did nothing for his
living but court the landladies of Market-jew. The young wife
had long been tired of her old man and wished him dead, but as
he never seemed inclined to die, she persuaded the young fellow
to put him going that night, as it seemed to her a good oppor-
tunity for them to escape suspicion of the dark deed.

A little before daybreak she ran to the mayor's house — her
hair in disorder and her clothes rent — crying when she came
near it, " Vengeance ! Vengeance ! Do me justice my neighbours !
Help me, your worship ! My sweet handsome man, don't delay,"
cried she, when under his chamber window. ' ' I have been
foully dishonoured. My money is stolen, and my dear husband
murdered, by three West Country villains, who lodged in our
house last night. They are now getting ready to start in haste."

The mayor called from his chamber window, " Gk>, tell the
crier to sound his trumpet through the streets, and summon the
town folk to meet me in the market place."

In a short time the townspeople assembled in the market
square, where their mayor and the hostess awaited them. Said
the mayor to his constables, "Go to this good woman's house,
and bring hither three men you will find there." Turning to
the town's people he continued, " My honest neighbours, choose
a jury among ye, that we may try these West Country rascals,
right away, for robbery and murder, and hang them before
breakfast— no doubt they are guilty — and the urgency of our
own business will not admit of our wasting much time on such
matters. And, thank Gk>d, we have no lawyers in Market-jew to
confound us with their quibbles, to embarrass justice, and to
hinder speedy punishment."

Before the mayor had finished speaking the three Treen
merchants were brought, handcuffed, into his presence. When

A MAYOR OF MARKET-JEW. 83

they had all entered the townhall (where the mayor, even in
those days, sat with his back towards the one window) his
worship said, " Good woman, state your case."

When she stood up one might see that she was one of those
who never looked a person fairly in the face, but take one's
measure with stealthy glances. She put on a sanctified look ;
groaned; sighed; turned up her eyes; and exclaimed, "Oh,
blessed Saint Mary, help me to declare the troubles I endured
last night ! Know, your worship and kind neighbours all," said
she, glancing round, " that, towards the morning part of the
night, these three villains came into my chamber, where my
blessed husband — God rest him ! — and myself were in bed. One
of them broke open our money-chest, whilst another did a deed
my modesty forbids me to name. My dear man, in trying to
defend my virtue and his money, struggled hard. The third
blackguard, to keep him quiet, grasped his dear throat with both
hands and strangled him. Then they gave me more ill usage
all three."

" That will do," said the mayor, " the case seems clear to me.
Gentlemen of the jury, what say ye ? "

"We are all agreed to hang them," replied the foreman;
' ' but our doctor, who saw the body, has some doubts of what
the woman sayeth."

" You," said the mayor, in an angry voice, "you, with your
crotchets, fears, and doubts, are always causing inconvenient
delay. Yet be quick and we will hear what you have to say."

"The old man has been strangled many hours," said the
doctor, " for the body is stiff and cold, and I want to know how
the woman did not make an alarm before."

"Woman, what hast thou to say to that?" demanded his
worship.

Without hesitation she replied, ' ' After these three black West
Country rascals, robbers, and ravishers had misused me I fainted,
and remained in a fit. I don't know how long before I awoke
to my trouble and ran to seek your worship's aid."

" Now, doth that clear your doubts ? " said the mayor : " and
you villains," speaking to the merchants, " what can ye say for
yourselves that ye should not be hanged and your heads fixed on
spikes over the prison-gate, as a warning to such as you not to
murder, rob, and ravish the virtuous people of Market-jew ? "

" We are innocent," said they, " and we never saw the old
man but once, in the kitchen, where he was turning the spit. A
tinner, who came with us from St. Hillar downs, knoweth us to
be men of good repute, but we know not where to find him^ and
can only declare our innocence each for the others."

" That's a kind of evidence that won't stand here," replied

84 TOM OF CHYANNOR.

the mayor, " and, not to waste more time, I sentence yon to be
hanged all three. Officers," he continued, " see it done immedi-
ately, and seize their horses and merchandise to pay costs."

Whilst the mayor of Market-jew was pronouncing sentence,
Tom, in haste, entered the court. " Hold," cried he, " and don't
ye murder three innocent men. That woman caused the death
of her husband, and a long-legged-red-haired fellow, with a
pimply face, who weareth a coat of this colour," said he, holding
aloft a piece of grey cloth, " did the foul deed."

" What can you know of this matter ? " demanded the mayor.

" Give time to draw breath, and I will tell 'e," said Tom. " I
was fellow traveller with these three merchants of Treen. They
asked me to lodge in the same house with them, but having
bought a piece of wit that teacheth me to avoid the house where
a young woman is wedded to an old man, I went next door.
There was no room to spare but in the, garret, where I found a
pile of straw against a screen of boards between that house and
the one in which the merchants lodged. On the straw I made
my bed. Though tired, I didn't sleep, because music, singing,
and dancing, below, kept me awake. About midnight, when
all was quiet, I saw, through a hole in the screen, a light in the
next house, and that woman (I know her by her purple nose and
splatty face) talking to a tall red-haired man. Both stood near
the screen. Then she said to him, ' I am heartily sick and tired
of my old fool. All he's good for is to turn the spit, and a small
dog would do that better. To-night would be a capital time to
stop his wheezing. Here's what you might do it with,' said
she, giving him a nackan (handkerchief). ' Draw it tight
around his scraggy throat ; give it a good twist, just so (said
she showing him how), and we shall be no more troubled with
his jealousy.- Don't fear the consequences ; leave them to me ;
I know how to get these three jeering West Country fellows
into the scrape. If they are hanged for it, it will be good fun
for us.' The man seemed unwilling till, putting her arms round his
waist, she said, ' With all the love I have for thee, cans't thou
stick at such a trifle, my dearest Honney (Hannibal), that will
make the way clear for thee to be master here, with me and all
the old fool's money. And there 'it is, in the bags by the screen
— all the best of it,' said she, pointing to them ; ' what's left in
the chest is only copper coins and old tokens, and his claws are
too stiff and crum (crooked) to untie the bags and see what's
in them. And here, faint heart,' said she, taking up a bottle and
pouring out a cup of liquor, ' drink this brandy ; go down ; be
quick; and do it quietly, that Treen men, in the next room, may'nt
hear thee.' The man went down with the nackan in his hand,
and in two minutes or less returned. ' Well ! is all right ?' she

TKEEN MERCHANTS ACQUITTED. 85

asked. 'That it is,' he replied, 'I quickly wound the nackan
round his neck ; he moved a little and murmurred in his sleep,
' Don't 'e hug me so close, my dear.' I then drew it tight, and
gave it a wrench ; he made but one squeak and all was over.
And now I'll take the money and go.' ' Don't be in such a
hurry,' said she, ' one or two bags are enough for 'e now.' ' No,'
said he, getting from her and approaching the screen, ' all isn't
enough for the deed I've done to please thee.' Then he handled
the bags, took two, and went away. I know it was about mid-
night " (said Tom in reply to the doctor's query) "because,
while the man was below I heard the bell that shaven crowns
on the Mount toll at the dead of night."

"Well, and what next?" demanded the mayor; "if thou
hast anything more to say, be quick, and out with it."

"I have only to state," resumed Tom, "that when he stooped
to pease (weigh) the bags of money, his skirt came against the
hole in the screen. With my left hand I caught hold of the
cloth ; with my other unsheathed my knife, and cut off this
piece. I tried to keep awake, knowing these men were in danger
from that false woman, but I fell asleep, I don't know how, and
only waked just in time to learn they were brought here to be
tried for their lives."

"It's provoking," said the mayor, "yet this man's story may
be as true as the woman's; or truer, my men," continued he
speaking to the officers; "You know the long-legged scamp,
that haunts this woman's house and all the others in the town,
where liquor and victuals can be got for his bladder-dash. Hunt
him up and bring him hither ; he is likely to be at the St.
Michael's or some other public house. Get the money he took
away, and all you can find in this woman's house ; bring it all
here to pay the cost."

In a short time the officers returned, dragging in the man Tom
had spoken of. They turned him round, held up his skirt, and
there saw a hole that the piece Tom held fitted exactly, and in
his pockets were found two bags of gold.

" It's a clear case now then," said the mayor, " so string them
up at once — the man and woman, I mean, ye fools. You Treen
men go about your business, and thank your luck that this
tinner is as wise as a St. Levan witch to get 'e out of the
hobble."

Tom and the merchants took a hasty breakfast, loaded theii
pack-horses, and started homewards, about sunrise. In passing
the jail they saw the woman and her long-legged Honney strung
up. They went quickly on to avoid the ugly sight, and the
merchants made much of Tom, you may be sure.

Two hours or so before noon, they arrived at a public house,

H

86 TOM OF CHYANNOR.

tied their horses to a hedge, gave them their nose-bags of corn,
arid eased their backs by propping up their loads with sticks,
such as were then kept at road-side inns for that purpose. " You
will dine with us, Tom, and we will treat you to the best the
house affords," said the merchants; "we shall at least get good
malt liquor and wholesome fare. "We may as well rest a few
hours, now that we are just as good as home and in a part where
honest folks dwell."

The merchants being cheered with good ale said to Tom,
' ' Comrade, we will one and all give thee something to show
how we value the good turn thou hast done us in Market-jew.
But for thee, my son, we should never more have seen our wives
and children dear, or the castle and good old town of Treen."

"Hold your clack, my masters," Tom replied, "I am vexed
with myself to think that I should have slept and left 'e in such
danger ; it's only by a mere cat's jump that you arn't hanged.
But who would ever think the mayor of Market-jew is the man
to try a case so quick ? Come, let us be going. I am thinking.,
too, about my wife and cheeld; it was here we parted, and I
wonder how they have got on, poor dears, since I've been far
away."

"Well then, as you are so hastes we will pay the shot,"
replied they, " and jog along again, and be home before sunset,
if all be well." Driving their horses at a quick pace, they went
on with great glee and arrived at the foot of Trelew Hill.

Here, since Tom went eastward, a new road had been made,
that took another direction to reach the hill -top, where it re-
entered the old one. The merchants were for going by the new
road, because it was easier for their horses.

"Friend Tom, you had better come along with us," said they,
" than scramble up the steep hill through that rocky lane."

"No, my friends, though I am loath. to leave your pleasant
company," replied he, "I shall take the old road, for I have
bought another piece of wit that telleth me never to leave an old
road for a new one. Choose for yourselves. A short way hence,
where the two roads join, the first that arrives can await the
others."

The merchants went on, saying, " We shall soon meet again."

When Tom came to where the roads joined, he saw the horses
jogging homewards, without their owners. He looked along the
road both ways, but saw no merchants. Then getting on a high
bank, in a minute or two he beheld one of them coming across
the downs stripped of his coat, hat, and wallet. He saw soon
afterwards the two others, coming from different directions,
almost naked.

"Halloo, my masters," said Tom, when they came near,

THEY OVERCOME THE ROBBERS. 87

"however are ye in this sad plight?"

"Ah, comrade," answered they, "we wish we had been so
wise as thou. Half-ways up the hill robbers fell on us and
stripped us, as you see."

" How many were they ? " Tom asked.

In their confusion each merchant answering, " Three attacked
me ; " they counted the robbers nine, till considering how they
had separated at the onset, each one trying to save himself, they
saw that the same men, having fallen on each one of them in
turn, they were only three robbers after all. Tom remarked, in
angry tones, " One wouldn't take you for West Country men, yet
I should think it's hard to find three stouter than you, this side
of Hayle. But you forgot One and All; so I hayn't much pity
for 'e ; each one trying to save himself took to his heels and left
his comrades in the lurch ; that's the way yoii are beaten ; and
serve 'e right. My old dad always said to me, " Tom, my boy,
mind One and All. Fall fair, fall foul, stand by thy comrades,
and in misfortune, stick ail the closer, my son. But we have no
time to lose," he continued, " we are four of us together now ;
they can't be gone far, and, dash my buttons, if we don't beat
them yet. You have lost your sticks, I see, but here's what will
serve your needs," said he taking up his threshal (flail), undoing
it, and putting the keveran (connecting piece of leather) in his
pocket. " One take the slash-staff, another the hand-staff, the
other of 'e take my threshal-strings, and bind the rascals hand
and foot as we knock them down. Now come on, boys ! One and
All mind ; or the devil take the first to run."

The merchants, wishing to recover their clothes and money,
readily agreed to return with Tom in pursuit. They ran down
the rocky lane. At the bottom, near where the roads separated,
they saw, on a rock, by the side of the new road, bundles of
clothes and the merchants' wallets. Going on softly a few paces
farther, they beheld the three robbers stretched on the grass, a
little off the road, counting the stolen money and dividing their
spoil. They sprang to their legs, but were scarcely up when Tom
and the two merchants knocked them down and the other secured
them.

"Ah!" said Tom, with a satisfied look, when he saw the
robbers laid low, "the buff coat and new boots on that big
fellow, who looks like their captain, will suit me, and I will take
them for my Sunday's wear."

No sooner said than done with Tom. Whilst the merchants
gathered up their money, he pulled off the captain's boots and
stripped him of his buff ; saying, ' ' Now, my fine fellow, you
won't be able to run very fast over furze and stones, if you should
be inclined to give chase when you come round again."

88 TOM OF CHYANNOR.

The merchants, having well thrashed the robbers, left them
stretched on the ground, half-killed, took their own clothes, and
proceeded homewards, giving Tom much praise for his wit and
valour.

They soon overtook their horses, and, without stopping, arrived
at Coet-ny-whilly. Here the nearest road to Chyannor strikes
off to the right of that leading to Treen. The merchants pressed
Tom to go home and sup with them.

"No, thank 'e, not now, some other time," he answered.

" Come along," they again urged, all three ; saying, "thou art
right welcome, and we will treat thee well."

"No, not now," replied he, " but I don't doubt your welcome,
though, as my master used to say, ' It is often good manners to
ask, but not always to take.' Besides," continued he, "I am
longing to get home quickly and see my wife and cheeld."

Each party proceeded their separate ways. When Tom had
passed a place called the Crean, and was within half a mile of
his dwelling, he sat down on a bank and lingered there till dusk,
that he might get home about dark, and have a chance to look
round unperceived, and thus find out if his wife had attended to
her duty. Tom had learned but little about his family from the
merchants. They merely told him that his wife had often been
to Treen with yarn to sell, and, as she was a good spinster, they
supposed the weavers gave her plenty of work. They knew
nothing of either his wife or his daughter.

When it was all but dark Tom again went on slowly, and
quickened his pace in going up the Bottom, till he approached
within a stone' s-cast of his dwelling. Here he paused a moment,
on hearing a man's voice inside. Then he went softly on to a
little glass window — the only one glazed in his house — and
peeped in.

On the chimney-stool he espied, by the fire-light, a man and a
woman, hugging, kissing, and seeming very fond of each other.

" Oh ! but this is double damnation," groaned Tom to himself,
"that I should ever come home, after working for years far
away, to be greeted with such a sight. Where can the cheeld
be ? 'Tis enough to make one mad to see her faggot of a mother
there, showing more love for that black -looking fellow than she
did for me, except in our courting times and a week or so after
marriage. I'll kill the villain, and drive the old huzzey to doors,
that I will."

Whilst such thoughts of vengeance passed through Tom's
mind, he recollected his last two pounds' worth of wit, and
hesitated a minute at the door ; but he was sure of what he saw ;
and now, hearing them laughing and couranting (romping) in
their loving play, that aggravated him all the more. He grasped

HIS WELCOME HOME. 89

his stick and looked again to be certain, when a voice closo
behind him called out to him in tones like his wife's, " Halloo,
eaves-dropper ! Who art thou, and what dost thee want there
spying and listening ? Thee west hear no good of thyself, I'll
be bound ! "

Tom looking rouncj, saw his wife close by, with a 'burn' of ferns
on her back.

"That can never be thee, wife," said he, "unless thee art a
witch; for this instant thou wert sitting on the chimney-stool
with a strange man, and behaving in a way that don't become
thee."

"Art thou come home such a fool as not to know thy own
cheeld?" she replied. "Who else should be in but our
Patience and her sweetheart Jan the cobbler. I left them there
half an hour ago, when I went down in the moors for a ' burn ' of
fuel. Come in, quick, and let's see how thee art looking, after
being so long away. Wherever hast a been to ? We didn't
know if thee wert alive or dead. If I had been married again
nobody could blame me."

Patience, hearing her father's voice, ran out, and great was
her joy to find him come home. Tom shook hands with her
sweetheart, saying, "I could never have believed when I left
thee, Jan, a mere hobble-de-hoy, I should come back and find
thee such a stout man, and the cheeld too, grown a woman —
taller than her mother."

Tom having taken his accustomed place on the bench, his wife
said, "I see thee hast got a buff coat and a pair of new high
boots, fit for any gentleman or a lord of the land to wear on
Sundays and high holidays, and I suppose you have brought
home something new for me and the maid to wear that you
mayn't be ashamed of us, when rigged in your boots and buff.
Come now, Tom dear," continued she, over a bit, when they had
admired what Tom didn't tell them he took from the robber;
" Come, love, let's see what have 'e got for us ? "

" I have brought 'e home myself," Tom replied, "and a charm-
stone for Patience to wear when she is married, that will be
better than a fortune of gold and lands for her and her husband.
Besides, I have brought 'e a cake," continued he, in placing it
on the board.

"And is that all?" demanded his wife, looking as black as
thunder at him ; " and tell us what's become of thy wages then,"
continued she with increasing anger.

"I gave my two pounds a year wages," he replied, "back
again to my master for six pounds' worth of wit, and he g&ve
me that cake for thee."

"Ay, forsooth," said she in a rage. " Thee art a wise man

90 TOM OF CHYAJfyOR.

from the East, that lacked wit to know his own cheeld after being
three years from home. Go the way'st away again, and take thy
fuggan along with thee." Saying this she snatched up the cake
and fired it at her husband, aiming for his head ; but Tom ducked
quick, the cake went smash against the wall, broke in pieces,
and out of it fell a lot of money. Silver and gold ringled on
the floor ! When all was picked up and counted they found
Tom's three years' wages and many shillings over.

" Oh, my dear Tom," said his wife, " no tongue can tell how
glad 1 am to see thee home again, safe and sound, after being
so long away in strange countries one didn't know where. And
thou didst know well enow about the money, and only played
the trick to try me."

"The devil a bit," said Tom, "but I forgive thee, and let's
have supper."

The wife gave Patience a large bottle, telling her to run quick
over to Trebeor and have it filled with the best she could get, to
drink her father's health and welcome home. Turning to Tom
she said, " The sand will soon be down in the hour-glass, and then
a leek-and-pilchard pie, put down to bake before I went out for
fuel, will be ready ; meanwhile let's have a piece of thy cake ; it
seems very good."

When Patience and Jan had gone away for liquor, Tom's wife
seated herself on the chimney-stool, with a piece of the cake in her
hand, and said quite coaxing like, "Take thy piece of cake in
thy hand, my son, and come the way'st here alongside of me ;
I have something to tell thee."

When both of them were seated on the chimney-stool, very
lovingly, eating their cake together, she continued to say, " I
hope thee wesent be vexed, Tom dear, to hear me confess the
truth ; and if thee art it can't be helped now; so listen, and don't
leave thy temper get the upper hand of all thy wisdom, for I
have had a young fellow living in the house more than two years
and we have slept in the same bed lately every night. Why thee
art looking very black good man, but he is very innocent and
handsome and so thee west say ; he is in my bed asleep now !
Come the way'st down in the 'hale' and see him. One may see
by thy looks that thee hast ,a mind to murder the youngster, but
have patience and come along."

Tom sprang up, like one amazed, and followed his wife when
she took the chill (lamp) and entered the other room.

" Come softly, Tom," said his wife, as she approached the bod,
turned down the bedclothes, and showed her husband, to his
great surprise, a fine boy nearly three years old. She then told
Tom how, after being many years without children, when he left
her for the East she found reason to expect an increase to their

HIS WISE SAWS. 91

limited family. Tom's joy was now past all bounds. He had
always wished for a boy, and hadn't satisfied himself with
kissing the child, and admiring his big-boned limbs (for one of
his age) when Patience and her sweetheart entered. Tom and
the rest drank to the boy's health, and all was now joy and
content.

News of Tom's return having been quickly carried from house
to house, supper was scarcely put aside, when in came a number
of neighbours. All brought wherewith to drink his welcome
home, and the night sped jovially in hearing him recount his
adventures in the East Country.

Next day, Tom and his wife, being alone together, she said to
to him, "Now, whilst the maid is out, tell me, my son, what
dost thee think of her sweetheart and of their being married
soon ? " ,

"Well, wife, from what I saw when I looked through the
window last night," Tom replied, "I should say that she
wouldn't break her heart, any more than her mother before her,
if she were to be married to-inorrow ; but is Jan a fool, like I
was, to give up a young man's life of pleasure and wed in haste,
like I did, thou kiiowest, that he may repent at leisure ? Yet thee
wert very good looking then, just like our Patience is now, and,
with thy deceiving ways, I didn't stop to consider that beatity is
only skin deep. Jan the cobbler," Tom continued, nodding his
head very knowingly, "is hale and strong, and come of an
.honest 'havage '-enow. I am loath to lose the maid so soon ; yet
my wise master used to say to his wife, ' One that will not when
he may, when he will he shall have nay ; ' and it is better to have
a daughter but indifferently married than well kept ; though the
charm I have for Patience will make her a prize for a lord, yet a
cobbler isn't to be despised, and a good trade is often more worth
than money that may be spent ; so, with all my heart, let them
be wedded when they will."

A few days after Tom's return, he and Patience went down to
Treen. Whilst they were away, his wife, curious (like most
women are), took it into her head to examine the coat Tom took
from the robber. She wondered how it was so heavy, and
noticed that the body-lining of serge was worked over very
closely. She undid the cloth, and found that gold coins were
quilted in all over it, two-deep in some places, between the
woollen stuff and an inner lining. Before Tom returned she
took out more money, all in gold, than filled a pewter quart, and
then there was a good portion left untouched, for fear Tom
might come home and see the nest she had found ; all in good
time, the money and coat were put in an old oak chest, of which
she kept the key. When Tom and Patience came in she could

92 TOM OF CHYANNOB.

hardly conceal her joy. They wondered at her sprightly humour
yet, for a great marvel, she kept her counsel, though Tom said
more than once that evening. "I can't think, old woman, what
can be the matter, that thee art going about cackling to thyself
like an old hen shot in the head, and with as much fuss and
consequence, too, as a mabyer (young hen) searching for a nest,
days before it is wanted, and finding none to her mind, good
enow to drop her first egg in. And look at her, tossing her
head," he continued, "don't she look proud, like the light-
headed mabyer, after laying her egg ? "

As Tom knew nothing of his good fortune he continued to
work on diligently, as usual.

When Feasten Monday came round Jan the cobbler and
Patience were married. Her father gave her the charm-stone
privately, with instructions for its use, as his old mistress had
directed. Strangers were not let into the secret, because all
charms lose their virtue when known to others than the charmers,
who, if they give or tell it, lose its use for ever.

When the honey-moon waned Jan would sometimes get into an
angry mood. Then his wife would, unobserved, slip the charm-
stone in her mouth, and (let him talk or fume) keep quietly
about her work. In a short time with good humour, like sun-
shine returned, he would again be heard ringing his lap-stone to
the measure of some lively old tune. The quiet ways of Patience
and her gentle bearing, kept love and content, with peace and
plenty, in their happy dwelling ; and her charm had such power
that, over a while, she had seldom occasion to use it. Yet, indeed,
some women, living near, who liked to let their crabbed tongues
run like the clapper of a mill, would say that Patience was a poor
quiet fool, and that the more one let blockheads of husbands
have their own way the more they will take till they go to the
dogs, or the devil, at last. Jan would tell these idle cacklers,
who stuck up for woman's misrule, to mind their own affairs and
that for such ' tungtavusses ' as they were the old saying held
good — that " a woman, a dog, and a walnut tree, the more you
beat them the better they be." But gentle Patience, heedless
of their prate, kept on in the even tenor of her life, and retained
her husband's unabated love till the peaceful close of her days.

Now it happened about three years after Tom had returned
from the East Country, there was a large farm in St. Levan for
sale. " Ah, poor me," said Tom one night, after a hard day's work,
" I have been toiling and moiling, like a slave, all my life long,
but we shall never have an inch of land to call our own till laid
in the church-hay. Yet here are our hunting gentry, who have
more than they can make good use of, and they can't live on
that. If we could but scrape together enough to buy an acre or

A LORD OF THE LAND. 98

two of fee, or only the corner of a croft, where one might have a
hut and a gar'n for herbs, with the run of a common for a cow
or anything else, and none to say us nay, how happy we should
be. But now," he continued, " it is only by the lord's leave, and
that I don't like to ask of any man ; and why should one who hath
hands to work when there is so much land in waste untilled ? "

" Tom, my son, cheer up," his wife replied ; " there are many
worse off than we are, with our few pounds laid by for a rainy
day, and health and strength to get more. Why I am afraid,"
said she, " that thou would' st go crazy, or die for joy, if any one
gave thee enough to buy a few acres."

"I wish to gracious somebody would but try me," Tom replied.

" Well now, suppose I were to tell thee," said she, " that we
have saved enough to buy good part, if not all, of the land for
sale, as you shall soon see."

She then brought from the chest a quart measure of gold coins,
and poured them out on the board. At the sight of the glittering
gold Tom sprung up in a fright and exclaimed, ' ' Now I know,
for certain, that thee art a witch ! I had often thought so. That
money is the Old One's coinage ; don't think that I'll have any
dealings with him ; I wouldn't touch with a tongs a piece of the
devil's gold."

' ' Hold thy clack, cheeld vean, if I'm a witch thou art no
conjuror, that's clear," replied she. " Now listen, and learn that
the coat taken by thee from the robber-captain was all lined with
gold, quilted in between the serge and the leather, and what
thou seest on the board isn't all I found in it."

When Tom's surprise had somewhat abated, he counted the
money and found more than was required to purchase and stock
two such farms as the one then for sale. Over a while Tom
bought a great quantity of land — many acres might be had for
a few pounds in Tom's time, when a very small part of the land
was enclosed, and much less cultivated. In a few years he was
regarded as a rich yeoman, and his sons and grandsons became
substantial farmers.

Tom's posterity may still be flourishing in St. Levan, or some
place near, for what any body can tell, as no one knows what
name they took when surnames came into use, long after Tom
lived in Chyannor.

THE FAIRY DWELLING ON SELENA MOOR.*

" Merry elves, their morrice pacing,

To aerial minstrelsy,
Emerald rings on brown heath tracing,

Trip it deft and merrily."

SCOTT.

£HEN the ancient family of Noy flourished in
Buryan there was a large tract of unenclosed
common, belonging to the farms of Pendrea,
Selena, and Tresidder, which extended from
Cotnewilly to Baranhual, and branched off in
other directions. Great part of this ground was swampy and
produced a rank growth of rushes, water-flags, and coarse
herbage. Many acres were gay in summer with cotton-grass,
bog-beans, cucco-flowers, and other plants usually found in such
soil. In some places were dry rocky banks overgrown with sloe-
trees, moor-withey, furze, and brambles ; these patches being
surrounded by a broad extent of quaking bog or muddy soil
appeared like islands in a marsh. There were also many springs,
rivulets, and pools, that seldom froze, much frequented by wild-
fowl in winter. Great part of this moorland was then impassable ;
horse-tracks leading to Baranhual, Selena, and other farms,
passed over the dryest places, and were continued by rough
causeways through swamps ; — they were very bad roads at all
seasons.

Most of this wilderness has long been enclosed and drained ;
Pendrea portion of it is now a separate tenement called West-
moor. Near Cotnewilly were the scattered remains of an ancient
grove which, in very remote times, extended thence to Alsia-
mill.

One afternoon in harvest, Mr. Noy, with some of his men,
were over to Baranhual helping his kinsfolks, the Pendars. As
more hands were required for the next day, which was to be the
gulthise (harvest home), soon after ' croust ' time he rode up to

* This story should have preceded the " QUEEN'S VISIT," but it was not
obtained in time.

MK. NOT LOST. 95

Church-town to get them, and to invite the parson, clerk, and
sexton — the latter was particularly welcome to the harvest folk
as he was generally a good fiddler and droll-teller. With these,
according to old usage, were asked the crafts-men and others
who had lent hand about the harvest work, and aged inmates of
the poor house ; one and all were welcome to the gulthise supper.

Soon after ' day-down ' Mr. Noy, followed by his dogs, left the
public-house intending to return to Baranhual, but he didn't
arrive there that night nor the next. The Pendars and their
people thought he might have enjoyed himself at the Ship Inn
till late, and then have gone home to Pendrea. Mr. Noy had no
wife nor anybody else to be much alarmed about him, as he
was a middle-aged or rather elderly bachelor. But next day
when people from Church-town, Pendrea, and scores of neigh-
bours from other farms, came with their horses to help and to
feast at the gulthise, and nobody among them had seen or heard
of Mr. Noy from the time he left the inn, they got somewhat
uneasy ; yet they still supposed he might have gone to some corn-
carryiug down the lower side of Buryan, as was likely enow, for
all the neighbours round about were just like one family then.

As usual there was a great chase bringing home the corn in
trusses ; leaders and other helpers took their flowery-milk (hasty
pudding) for breakfast, apple pies for dinner, just when and how
they could, with beer and cider whenever they felt inclined, so
they might keep the mowers always building, to have the corn
under thatch before supper time. All being secured in the
mowhay scores of all ages enjoyed roast and boiled beef, mutton,
squab pies, rabbit and hare pies, pudding, and other substantial
fare, usually found at a bountiful gulthise supper ; then drinking,
singing, dancing, and other pastimes, were kept up till late. In
the meantime Dame Pendar had sent messengers round to all
places where she thought Mr. Noy might have gone, and they
returned, just as the feast was breaking up, without any tidings
of him.

Then everyone became anxious, and as it was near daj'-break
they volunteered to disperse and search in every place they could
think of before going to bed.

So away they went, some on horseback, others afoot, to
examine mill-pools, stream-works, cliffs, and other dangerous
places, near and far away. They returned at night, but nobody
had seen or heard of the missing gentleman. Next morning
horsemen were despatched to other parishes, and as Mr. Noy was
well known and liked there was a general turn out to hunt for
him; but this day, too, was passed in a like fruitless search
miles away.

On the third day, however, in the grey of the morning, a horse

96 THE FAIRY DWELLING.

was heard to neigh, and dogs were heard barking among thickets
on a piece of dry ground almost surrounded with bogs and pools,
on Pendrea side of Selena moor.

Now it happened that no one had thought of looking for Mr.
Noy in this place so near home, but when with much ado, a score
or so of men discovered a passable road into this sort of island in
the bogs, there they saw Mr. Noy's horse and hounds ; the horse
had found plenty of pasture there, but the dogs, poor things,
were half-starved. Horse and dogs showed their joy, and led
the way through thorns, furze, and brambles — that might have
grown there hundreds of years — till they came to large ' skaw '
trees and the ruins of an old bowjey or some such building that
no one knew of. Hunters never attempted in winter to cross the
boggy ground that nearly surrounded these two or three acres of
dry land, and in summer no one was curious enough to penetrate
this wilderness of thickets which, like all such places, was then
swarming with adders.

The horse stopped at what had been a door- way, pawed on the
'drussal,' looked around and wirineyd; the dogs, followed by
several people, pushed through the brambles that choked the
entrance, and within they found Mr. Noy lying on the ground
fast asleep. It was a difficult matter to arouse him ; at last he
awoke, stretched himself, rubbed his eyes, and said, "Why you
are Baranhual and Pendrea folks ; however are ye all come here ?
To-day is to be the gulthise, and I am miles and miles away
from home. What parish am I in ? How could 'e have found
me? Have my dogs been home and brought 'e here." Mr. Noy
seemed like one dazed as we say, and all benumed as stiff as a
stake, so without staying to answer his questions, they gave him
some brandy, lifted him on horseback, and left his steed to pick
its way out, which it did readily enow, and a shorter one than
they discovered.

Though told he was on his own ground, and less than half a
mile from Baranhual, he couldn't make out the country as he
said, till he crossed the running water that divides the farms.
" But I am glad," said he " however it came to pass, to have got
back in time for the gulthise." When they told him how the
corn was all carried three days ago, he said they were joking, and
wouldn't believe it till he had seen all in the mowhay under
thatch and roped down ; that the loose straw was raked up, and all
harvest implements put away till next season.

Then whilst breakfast was getting ready, seated on a chimney-
stool by a blazing fire, he told his neighbours that when he came
to Cotnewilly, the night being clear, he thought he might as well
make a short cut across the moor and save nearly a mile — as he
had often done before in summer time — instead of going round

FAIRY REVELS. 97

by the stony bridle-path ; but his horse, that was pretty much
used to finding his own way when his master was tipsy, wanted
to keep the usual road, and his rider, to baulk him, pulled
farther off towards Pendrea side of the common than he would
otherwise have done, and went on till he found himself in a part
that was unknown to him ; though he had been, as he thought,
over every inch of it that man or beast could tread on, both in
winter and summer. Getting alarmed at the strange appearance
of everything around him, he tried in vain to retrace his steps,
then gave the horse its head, and let it take its own course.

Yet instead of proceeding homeward, as was dobbin's wont, it
bore Mr. Noy to a land so crowded with trees that he had to"
alight and lead his steed. After wandering miles and miles,
sometimes riding but oftener afoot, without seeing any habitation
in this strange place, which he believed must be out of Buryan but
in what parish he couldn't tell, he at last heard strains of lively
music, and spied lights glimmering through the trees and people
moving about, which made him hope that he had arrived at some
farm where they had a gulthise, and the harvest-folks were out,
after supper, dancing in the town-place.

His dogs slunk back, and the horse wasn't willing to go on, so
he tied him to a tree, took his course through an orchard towards
the lights, and came to a meadow where he saw hundreds of
people, some seated at tables eating and drinking with great
enjoyment apparently, and others dancing reels to the music of
a crowd or tambourine — they are much the same thing — this was
played by a damsel dressed in white, who stood on a heaping-
stock just beside the house door, which was only a few paces
from him.

The revelers, farther off, were all very smartly decked out,
but they seemed to him, at least most of them, to be a set of
undersized mortals ; yet the forms and tables, with the drinking-
vessels on them, were all in proportion to the little people. The
dancers moved so fast that he couldn't count the number of those
that footed jigs and reels together, it almost made his head giddy
only to look at their quick and intricate whirling movements.

He noticed that the damsel who played the music was more
like ordinary folks for stature, and he took her to be the master's
daughter, as, when one dance was ended, she gave the crowd to
a little old fellow that stood near her, entered the house, fetched
therefrom a black-jack, went round the tables and filled the cups
and tankards that those seated, and others, handed to be replen-
ished. Then, whilst she beat up a new tune for another set of
dancers, Mr. Noy thought she cast a side-glance towards him ;
the music, he said, was so charming and lively that to save his
soul he couldn't refrain from going to join the dancers in a three-

98 THE FAIEY DWELLING.

handed reel, but the girl with a frown and look of alarm, made
a motion with her head for him to withdraw round a corner of
the house out of sight. He remained gazing, however, and still
advancing till she beckoned to the same little old man, to whom
she spoke a few words, gave him the crowd to play, and leaving
the company, went towards the orchard signaling to Mr. Noy to
follow her, which he did. When out of the candle-glare and in
a clear spot where moonlight shone, she waited for him. He
approached and was surprised to see that the damsel was no other
than a farmer's daughter of Selena, one Grace Hutchens, who
had been his sweetheart for a long while, until she died, three or
four years agone ; at least he had mourned her as dead, and she
had been buried in Buryan Churchyard as such.

When Mr. Noy came within a yard or so, turning towards him,
she said, " thank the stars, my dear William, that I was on the
look-out to stop ye, or you would this minute be changed into the
small people's state like I am, — woe is me."

He was about to kiss her, "Oh, beware!" she exclaimed,
' ' embrace me not, nor touch flower nor fruit ; for eating a tempt-
ing plum in this enchanted orchard was my undoing. You may
think it strange, yet it was all through my love for you that I am
come to this."

" People believed, and so it seemed, that I was found on the
moor dead ; it was also supposed that I must have dropped there
in a trance, as I was subject to it. What was buried for me,
however, was only a changeling, or sham body, never mine I
should think, for it seems to me that I feel much the same still as
when I lived to be your sweetheart."

As she said this several little voices squeaked, " Grace, Grace,
bring us more beer and cider, be quick ! "

' ' Follow me into the garden, and remain there behind the
house ; be sure you keep out of sight, and don't for your life,
touch fruit or flower," said she, in conducting out Mr. Noy, wh.0
desired her to bring him a tankard of cider too. " No, my love,
not for the world," she replied, "await me here, I'll soon return.
Sad is my lot to be stolen from the living and made housekeeper
to these sprites," murmured Grace, in quitting the garden.

Over a few minutes she returned to Mr. Noy, led him into a
bowery walk, where the music and noise of merriment didn't
overpower their voices, and said, "you know, my dear Willy,
that I loved you much, but you can never know how dearly."

"Rest yourself," she continued pointing to a stone, " on that
seat, whilst I tell ye what you never dreamt of." Mr. Noy seated
himself as desired, and Grace related how one evening, about
dusk, she was out on Selena Moor in quest of strayed sheep,
when hearing him, in Pendrea ground, halloo and whistle to his

FAIRY DIETBY. 99

dogs, she crossed over towards the sound in hopes of falling in
with him, but missed her way among ferns higher than her head,
and wandered on for hours amidst pools and shaking bogs
without knowing whither.

After rambling many miles, as it seemed to her, she waded a
brook and entered an orchard, then she heard music at a distance,
and proceeding towards it, passed into a beautiful garden with
alleys all bordered by roses and many sweet flowers, that she had
never seen the like of. Apples and other tempting fruit dropped
in the walks and hung over head, bursting ripe.

This garden was so surrounded with trees and water — coming
in every here and there among them — that, like one 'piskey-led,'
all her endeavours to find a way out of it were in vain. The
music, too, seemed very near at times, but she could see nobody.
Feeling weary and athirst, she plucked a plum, that looked like
gold in the clear star-light ; her lips no sooner closed on the fruit
than it dissolved to bitter water which made her sick and faint.
She then fell on the ground in a fit, and remained insensible, she
couldn't say how long, ere she awoke to find herself surrounded
by hundreds of small people, who made great rejoicing to get
her amongst them, as they very much wanted a tidy girl who
knew how to bake and brew, one that would keep their habitation
decent, nurse the changed-children, that wern't so strongly made
as they used to be, for want of more beef and good malt liquor,
so they said.

At first she felt like one entranced and hardly knew how to
' find herself ' in such strange company ; even then, after many
years' experience, their mode of life seemed somewhat unnatural
to her, for all among them is mere illusion or acting and sham.
They have no hearts, she believed, and but little sense or feeling;
what serves them, in a way, as such, is merely the remembrance
of whatever pleased them when they lived as mortals, — may be
thousands of years ago.

What appear like ruddy apples and other delicious fruit, are
only sloes, hoggans, (haws) and black-berries. The sweet scented
and rare flowers are no other than such as grow wild on every
moor.

In answer to Mr. Noy's enquiries about small people's dietry,
Grace told him how she sickened, at first, on their washy food of
honey-dew and berries — their ordinary sustenance — and how her
stomach felt so waterish that she often longed for a bit of salt
fish.

The only thing she relished was goat's milk, "for you must
have often heard," said she, "that these animals are frequently
seen on moors, or among earns and in other out-of-the-way places,
miles from their homes. They are enticed away by small people

100 THE FAIRY DULLING.

to nourish their babes and changelings. There's a score or more
of goats here at times. Those cunning old he-ones that often
come among a flock — no one knows whence — and disappear with
the best milkers, are the decoys, being small people in such
shapes. One may often notice in these venerable long-beards,
when seen reposing on a rock, chewing their cuds, a look of more
than human craftiness and a sly witch-like glance cast from the
corner of their eyes."

Looking at Mr. Noy for a moment with a melancholy
expression, she sighed and continued, ' ' I am now getting used
to this sort of life and find it tolerable, the more so because the
whole tribe behave to me with great kindness, the elderly men
above all ; you observed that little fellow to whom I spoke and
who now plays the tambourine, I desired him to tell the rest, in
case they inquired for me, that I was gone to look after the
children, and he is so much attached to me as to do or say
anything I request." Seeing Mr. Noy look somewhat lowering,
Grace exclaimed, "Oh! my dear Willy, don't be such a noddy
as to be jealous, for he's no other than vapour, and what he is
pleased to think love, is no more substantial than fancy."

Mr. Noy asked if there were any children among them besides
those they stole and replaced with changelings ?

"Very few indeed," she replied, "though they are fond of
babies, and make great rejoicing when one happens to be born
amongst them ; and then every little man, however old, is proud
to be thought the father. For you must remember they are not
of our religion," said she, in answer to his surprised look, "but
star- worshippers. They don't always live together like Christians
and turtle-doves ; considering their long existence such constancy
would be tiresome for them, anyhow the small tribe seem to think
so. And the old withered ' kiskeys ' of men that one can almost
see through, like puffs of smoke, are vainer than the young ones.
May the Powers deliver them from their weakly frames ! And
indeed they often long for the time when they will be altogether
dissolved in air, and so end their wearisome state of existence
without an object or hope."

She also told him — but he didn't remember exactly the words
she spoke— that she was the more content with her condition
since she was enabled to take the form of any bird she pleased,
and thus gratify her desire to be near him, so that when he
thought of her but little suspected her presence; she was
mostly hovering round and watching him in the shape of some
common small bird. Grace assured Mr. Noy of her everlasting
love, yet as long as nature would permit him to retain his mortal
form she would rather behold him in flesh and blood, than see
him changed to her state. She also told him, that when he died,

OLD FOLKS' NOTIONS. 101

if he wished to join her, they would then be united and dwell in
this fairy-land of the moors.

Mr. Noy wanted to know much more about these strange
beings, and was about to enquire, when they again called,
"Grace, Grace, where art thou so long? Bring us some drink
quickly." She hastily entered the house, and that moment it
came into his head that he, too, would have some liquor, disperse
the small tribe, and save Grace.

Knowing that any garment turned inside out and cast among
such sprites would make them flee, and happening to put his
hand into his coat pocket, he felt there the gloves that he had
worn for binding in the afternoon ; quick as thought, he turned
one inside out, put into it a small stone, and threw it among
them ; in an instant they all vanished with the house, Grace, and
all the furniture. He just had time to glance round, and saw
nothing but thickets and the roofless house of , an old bowjey,
when he received a blow on his forehead that knocked him down,
yet he soon fell asleep and dozed away an hour or two he thought.

Those to whom Mr. Noy related his story, said that he had
learnt nothing new from Grace, for old folks always believed of
the fair people such things as she told him, and they disliked to
be seen, above all by day-light, because they then looked aged
and grim. It was said, too, that those who take animal forms
get smaller and smaller with every change, till they are finally
lost in the earth as muryans (ants), and that they passed winter,
for the most part, in underground habitations, entered from
cleves or earns. And it is held that many persons who appear to
have died entranced, are not really dead, but changed into the
fairy state.

The recovered gentleman farther informed them that he had
remarked amongst the small folks, many who bore a sort of
family-likeness to people he knew, and he had no doubt but some
of them were changelings of recent date, and others their fore-
fathers who died in days of yore, when they were not good enow
to be admitted into heaven, nor so wicked as to be doomed to the
worst of all places. Over a while, it is supposed they cease to
exist as living beings, for which reason fewer of them are now
beheld than were seen in old times.

From the night that Mr. Noy strayed into the small people's
habitation, he seemed to be a changed man ; he talked of little
else but what he saw and heard there, and fancied that every
redbreast, yellow-hammer, tinner (wag-tail), or other familiar
small bird that came near him, might be the fairy -form of his
departed love.

Often at dusk of eve and moonlight nights, he wandered round
the moors in hopes to meet Grace, and when he found his search

THE FAIRY DWELLING.

was all in vain he became melancholy, neglected his farm, tired
of hunting, and departed this life before the next harvest.
Whether he truly died or passed into fairy-land, no one knows.

A story, much like the foregoing, is related of a young farmer called Richard
Vingoe, who was ' piskey-led ' in Treville Cliffs. After wandering for hours
over places which appeared strange to him, he followed a path through a
rocky ' bottom ' or glen into an underground passage or cavern, from which,
on emerging, he found himself in a pleasant looking country. Walking on he
heard sounds of merry-making, and came to a place where people appeared to
be keeping feast. He noticed a great number of persons hurling, and being fond
of that game, he was about to run and seize the silver ball, as it fell near him,
•when a female darted from behind a rock — which screened her from view — and
made eager signs for him to desist and follow her, as she withdrew into an
orchard near at hand. He approached and saw that she was a damsel who
had been dead a few years She told him how she was changed into the fairy-
state by having trespassed on the small people's domain, and that he had
narrowly escaped the same fate. She also informed him of their mode of life,
and that she was disposed to save him for the sake of their former attachment,
as in the above story.

When the hurlers and spectators of the game had all gone out of sight, she
conducted her former lover to the upper world by a shorter road than that by
•which he entered ; on the way she told him that as he had engaged to be married
within a few weeks, she had no desire to detain him. She advised him,
however, to defer his wedding three years, that he might be sure he knew
his own mind. When Vingoe promised to follow her advice, they passed
through an opening in a earn, and he saw Nanjizel ; his conductress then
said good-bye, and vanished. Being fatigued with his journey he lay on the
grass, near the spot where he again saw the light of day, and there he was
found asleep nearly a week after. Vingoe was never like the same man
again, for he took to hard drinking and died unmarried.

The details of both stories are so similar that they appear to be mere
versions of the same fairy-tale.

THE PAN'S HOUSE OF TREEX.

All within is dark as night ;
In the windows is no light ;
And no murmur at the door,
So frequent on its hinge before.

Come away : no more of mirth

Is here, or merry-making sound.
The house was builded of the earth,

And shall fall again to ground.

TENNYSON.

few years ago, there might have been seen on
rising ground, west of the road which passes through
Treen, the remains of a very old dwelling, formerly
known in that neighbourhood as the I'an's (pro Jan's)
house. Though neglected and ruinous it still retained
some signs of its former consequence when it was regarded as a
mansion. Visitors to the Logan Rock often stopped to look at
this forlorn-looking old house, with great part of its mullioned
windows and a doorway, that had once been its grand entrance,
walled up. Its peculiar old style of masonry, the massiveness
and irregularity of the rough granite blocks with which it was
constructed, and its high-pitched thatched roof, made this old
building an object of interest, though it was neither beautiful
nor picturesque. And a few casements, still retaining their old
lead-lights of small panes in various patterns, to which age had
imparted purple or rather prismatic hues, glimmered and glanced
with changing lights that gave to the habitation a very ghostly
look.

What remained had long been divided into three or four
dwellings ; but one wing was mostly unoccupied, because few
persons could be found so courageous or necessitous as to live in
it and have their rest disturbed every night, and often by day,
with the rumbling of a turn (spinning-wheel) varied by wild
shrieks, unearthly laughter, and other frightful noises. There
was also beyond the kitchen-court (and entered from it) a
garden, surrounded by high walls, which rendered it as secluded
as any room of the mansion. This ground was long called
Beaton's garden, even after, denuded of herbs and flowers, it was
turned into a pig's-court. This place was haunted too. In this
state the old house and appurtenances remained until destroyed by
fire, about ten years since, and it always retained the name of a

104 THE I'AN'S HOUSE OF TKEEN.

family that built it and resided there for generations, in the style
of gentry, though never very rich nor persons of much note
beyond that locality.

Three or four centuries ago, from their extravagance and a
run of bad luck, the I'ans were reduced to comparative poverty.
It was said that ill fortune ever followed them from the time
they broke up and removed to G-arrack-zans (holy rock) that
stood in front of their mansion, and around which a market was
held in old times when Treen was an important trading-place.
However, that may have been, shortly after all the family
remaining in Treen were John I' an (or Ivan) and his sister
Beatrice, usually called Beaton, who had lost their parents when
children. Young I'an from having much family pride and but
little property to support its dignity, led a very unsettled life —
mostly at sea, with a company of reckless young men, who carried
on a hazardous trade in importing liquors, silks, salt, and other
contraband goods from Koscroff ; making Penberth, or some other
cove near it, their usual landing-place. Both brother and sister
are said to have been remarkable for their tall stature and good
looks, though of very dark complexion.

They might, now and then, be seen at church — the former
dressed in a long bottle-green coat of cut velvet, and dusky
crimson waistcoat (both overlaid with tarnished gold lace) a plush
breeches, and diamond-buckled shoes. These everlasting
garments, that might have been worn by his grandfather, were
only changed in winter for home spun ; and his sturdy legs were
then encased in long funnel-topped boots of French make ; and
his jet black hair, that hung in curls on his shoulders, was
surmounted by a laced hat and plume. Though young I'an's
state dress appeared much the worse for wear he looked every
inch a gentleman, when, with old-fashioned courtesy, he led
into church his sister, arrayed in silks or samite, a century old or
more, yet still looking rich with their brilliant sheen, and thick
enough to stand on end; point-lace ruffles, yellow with age,
hanging from her elbows, were met by embroidered silk gloves ;
her hair, of darkest chestnut hue, turned back over cushions,
hung in ringlets down her neck ; and a little hat was fastened by
jewel-headed pins to her high head-dress. These remnants of
old finery, contrasted with homely articles of dress that had to
sustain more wear and tear, made the I'an's poverty only too
apparent ; the more so because, at that time, several well-to-do
families resided in St. Levan, and at church their old bravery
and newest fashions were all displayed and duly criticised.
Beaton showed, however, what her brother thought becoming
pride, in treating with coolness or contempt all attentions offered
by such rural beaux as he thought beneath her, though she had

"WILLY TASKES. 105

but slight chance, poor girl, of becoming acquainted with any of
higher rank.

I' an being seldom at home during the summer, his sister and
two or three old servants managed the farm — then but a few
acres of arable land, and a great run of common — and were sole
occupants of their gloomy mansion. The poor young lady's dreary
existence was partially relieved by her brother's presence during
winter. Then, too, he often brought home with him many of
his sea-mates or hunting companions, and the old house resounded
with their reckless drunken revelry for days and nights together.

Among I'an's comrades his favourite was an able seaman
called Willy Taskes or Trevaskes, who was a few years older
than Fan — a courageous smuggler, and mate of his fair-trader the
Mur. Taskes was remarkably strong built, the best wrestler and
boxer in the western parishes. With much practice he taught
I'an these arts of self-defence, and trained him to be just as good
a seaman as himself. I'an, when overloaded with drink, was
often quarrelsome or rather fond of fighting, without reason,
both at home and abroad. Taskes as often belaboured him
soundly to divert his combative inclinations from dangerous
antagonists ; often also, he got himself thrashed black and blue
in taking I'an's part, which he was ever ready to do against any
odds. From Willy being frequently in Beaton's company, and
from the favour shown him by her brother, she was less reserved
with him than others of his crew whom she kept at due
distance.

Of an evening when he often came alone, Beaton would ask
him to card the wool that she passed great part of her time in
spinning, and no one more ready than Willy Taskes to please her.
I'an frequently left them together, little deeming that his sister —
of gentle blood, poor as she might be — could have a thought
of the handsome young sailor as a lover. Ere long, however,
I'an was informed by his ugly old female domestic — one who ever
longed for but never had a lover — that her young mistress often
met Willy Taskes by night in the walled garden, Caercreis barn,
or among the Castle earns. I'an, enraged, entered his sister's
apartments — she had three rooms at her sole disposal in that
portion of the mansion known as Beaton's wing — and, after
much upbraiding, threatened to shoot Taskes if he came near
the house any more, and both of them if he caught them
together. Beaton defied her brother, and answered that if she
could not see Willy Taskes there she would meet him elsewhere,
and that it only depended on Willy as to whether she should be
his wife or not. Warned of what had taken place, the lover kept
aloof, and I'an, discarding his jovial companions, remained much
within doors, moody and discontented, wishing for the company

106 THE I'AN'S HOUSE OF TREEN.

of his former comrades, but pride forbade his making friendly
overtures; and his ill-humour was aggravated all the more
because his sister had the policy to persuade him that, after all, she
didn't care anything for Willy»Taskes, nor any of his crew, and
that his chagrin was all for nought. The dreary winter past,
and corn tilled, I' an and his crew prepared for an early trip to
Eoscroff. Their former mate, from his quarrel with the captain,
or rather from the coolness between them, having gone to work
on land, they selected a new one and made sail.

I' an left on good terms with his sister, thinking that, though
she might have had an unbecoming affection for Taskes, yet her
self-respect and regard for the dignity of their family — which he
had awakened — had enabled her to subdue her misplaced love.

In a few weeks the Mur, as I'ans craft was called, returned
with the usual goods, which were soon landed and disposed of,
as the most valuable liquors, silks, lace, &c., were bespoke by the
neighbouring gentry. Farmers, and others who assisted to land
and secure the cargo soon took off what remained. There was
then little or no interference from any government officials;
indeed in more recent times those paid to check "fair-trade"
were often the smugglers' friends, because they durst not interrupt
their proceedings with anything but well-understood shams of
activity, and they were always rewarded with a share of the
goods if they conducted themselves with discretion. Old smug-
glers say they often wished to fall in with the revenue-cutter that
their trip might be the more exciting — they answered her shots by
a loud hurrah, and a blaze from their own swivel-gun. As for the
riding-officer they didn't mind him a straw, and of other coast-
guards there were none.

All hands being ready for another trip, the evening before
they intended to start I' an told his sister he was going to meet his
crew at the Skaw Tree — the inn at St. Levan Church-town, —
have a carouse, and sail in the morning early. Wishing to become
friends with his old mate, I' an had requested one of his crew to
tell Taskes that he would be glad of his company at the public-
house and to let all past unpleasantness be forgotten. In I'an's
happier moods a lingering regard for his former comrade and
staunch friend would get the upper hand of his prejudice and
family pride, and then he would even think of Taskes as his
brother-in-law with complacency.

From jealousy on the part of his new mate and others, his
friendly message was not delivered. I'an not guessing the reason
why Taskes didn't join them, and only thinking his offers of
renewed friendship were slighted, was in ill-humour, and what
was intended to have been a jovial night, passed unpleasantly.
At length some of the fuddled crew, vexed because of their

AN ENCOTJNTER. 107

captain's preference for his former mate, hinted that he might
be in Caercreis barn, in company he better liked, and that, by all
accounts, his sister and Willy had always been on very good
terms. I'an, tipsy as he was, understood their meaning, made
imprudent threats of the way he would be revenged on Tastes ;
and left the company much earlier than was his wont on such
occasions.

Very mixed feelings, and all of an irritating nature, spurred him
on his way towards an old solitary ' bowjey,' or field barn, where
a cottage now stands — five minutes walk from Castle Treen ; and
he had only gone a few yards beyond Pedny-vounder lane,
when, by the dim moonlight, he spied two persons sauntering
along a sheep-track that wound among rocks and earns below
him. Approaching and seeing they were his sister and her lover
he assailed them with angry words, which soon came to blows
between the men. Taskes, finding that I'an was the worse for
drink, merely defended himself and received his blows that he
might expend his fury on him, as he had often done when they
were the best of friends. But, as bad luck would have it,
Taskes, in going back, to avoid what might have been ugly
strokes, fell over a shelving rock on to a ledge (or shelf, as we
say), many feet below.

When I'an saw the young man he had once loved as a brother
lying prostrate and apparently dead, his pride and anger gave
place to bitter sorrow. He raised the wounded man, who moaned,
and gasped for breath for some minutes; then hearing I'an
crying like a child, begging him to forget and forgive the past
and be friends, "I have nothing to forgive thee, my son," Taskes
replied; "it was my bad luck, and, whether I die or live a
cripple, I would rather for it to be my case than thine."

Over a while I'an and his sister helped him to stand, and one
on either side of Taskes, with his arm round the neck of each,
they slowly reached their house and placed him on I'an's bed.
The servant-man was summoned, and told to ride with all speed
for a doctor. Taskes tried to speak, and signed that he might
be lifted up in bed. Supported on I'an's breast, and holding the
brother's and sister's hands, he said "I know, dear John, a doctor
can do me no good." And, looking towards Beaton, he told her
to bring the man close to the bedside, for he had something to
say before it might be too late.

The old servant approached. Taskes called him by name, and
continued, ' ' I am dying. None but ourselves know how I came
by my end. You must bear witness for John, your master, that
I declare it was all by my own mischance that I fell over a rock,
and received my deadly hurt." He hadn't strength to say more.
I'an wiped the bloody froth from the sinking man's lips, and tried

108 THE I'AN' s HOUSE OF TREEN.

to cheer him by saying, "Thou shalt live yet, my dear Willy,
and be my brother."

Beaton, like one in a terrible dream, was unconscious of most
that passed, till Taskes, awakening from a long swoon, grasped
her hand and moaned in sad accents, "Beaton, dear Beaton ; if I
could but live till we might be married, I should die more content.
And my dear John," he continued, directing his gaze towards
I'an, "promise me, for all the years we have been like brothers,
to be ever kind to Beaton and to my — to our " — he gasped for
breath — with a gurgling in his throat, blood oozed from his lips.
Looking wistfully at Beaton, he grasped brother's and sister's
joined hands with a death-grip ; his head sunk on I'an's breast ;
and thus Willy Taskes passed away in his prime.

Beaton, distracted by sorrow, had to be forcibly taken from
her lover's bedside, and for weeks she seemed to be on the verge
of madness. Her brother scarcely less grieved, tried to find
some solace for his anguish in ordering that, in all respects, the
funeral should be conducted as for one of his kindred. It was a
custom with the I'ans, and a few other West Country families, to
have their burials at night. So, a week after the fatal encounter,
and in the summer evening's twilight, Willy Taskes was borne
out of the old mansion, carried by his former comrades, followed
by I'an and by many neighbours to his last resting-place in St.
Levan Churchyard.

THE I'ANS QUIT TREEN.

She woke at length, but not as sleepers wake,

Rather the dead, for life seem'd something new,
A strange sensation which she must partake

Perforce, since whatsoever met her view,
Struck not her memory, though a heavy ache

Lay at her heart, whose earliest beat, still true,
Brought back the sense of pain without the cause,

For, for a while, the furies made a pause.

BYRON.

I'an being reluctant to leave his sister all alone with her
sorrow, procured a good seaman to command the Mur for her
next run. Fears were entertained that Beaton's mind might
become permanently deranged from excessive grief. She could
seldom be induced to leave the room in which her lover died,
and I'an, feeling a repugnance to sleep there, she took it for a
bedroom, saying she intended to keep it because that apartment,
with two or three others adjoining it, were bequeathed to her (as

MATERNAI, INSTINCT. 109

indeed they were, with their furniture), for her life-time. For
many days together she was never seen except by the aged
servant, who, at the usual meal-times, took to the gloomy
chamber food that was often removed untasted. Her spinning-
wheel was thrown aside ; yet she seemed occupied in some quiet
mysterious way; and I' an, getting alarmed for the probable
result of her sad seclusion, consulted a doctor, who, being an old
friend of the family, came to visit Beaton without delay, and
requested to be taken to her room without being announced.
I' an entered, followed by the doctor, and saw Beaton in a window-
recess, busily sewing ; at the same time, so absorbed was she in
singing a baby's lullaby and rocking a cradle — in which there
was no child, but a christening-dress with other articles of her
infantile wardrobe — that she did not perceive her visitors. They
noted, too, that the bed was covered with old dresses, in various
beautiful fabrics, and that Beaton had been cutting them up,
seemingly to waste. I' an annoyed to see this destruction of gay
and costly gowns, said, ' ' Sister dear, art thou going crazy to be
cutting up thy best clothes?" "No, John," she replied,
without looking up from her work; "yet methinks you are
very rude thus to enter a lady's bedchamber with so little
ceremony. But men understand so little of women's hearts,"
she continued, as if speaking to herself and taking no further
notice of her brother ; ' ' little do they know that, when damsels
don their gayest robes, they long for the time when they may cut
them up for their babies' clothes. But is it to-morrow that is to
be my wedding-day?" demanded she. " Oh, dear Willy, where
art thou ? Do tell me. It was to have been some time before
brother John came back. The banns called thrice, we are to be
wedded before he returns ; then he will love my Willy like he
used to, and all will be right well."

Unconscious, seeming, of any presence save what her crazed
fancy imaged, she looked towards her brother and the doctor,
who now advanced and noticed there was no intelligence in her
fixed gaze. She appeared to be looking within rather than at
anything external, when she went on to say, " Our child, if a
boy, shall be named William, after you, my love ; but if a girl,
it shall never be called Beatrice for me, I have often been told
that the name, though a favourite one, has always been ill-starred
in our family. Shall we call her Mary for your mother, or Agnes
for mine ? Any names of those we love sound sweet, like a dear
mother's. That I remember, and how she rocked me singing,
' Lullaby, lullaby, littly maid Beatrice ; angels protect thee, my
darling.' "

I'an, cut to the heart to see her thus, took her hand and said,
" Sister, you are ill, dear, and our good friend, the doctor, is come

j

110 THE I'AK'S HOUSE OF TREEW.

to visit you." " Oh, how foolish people are," she replied, " I was
never better in my life, yet our old Betty will have it that I don't
eat enough, what next I wonder? I am glad, however, he is
come to visit us ; our house seems lonely now, and he is a dear
man — so kind, true, and hearty, I always liked him from a child,
and how he enjoys his pipe and glass, dear man ! I'll leave my
work now, and see that he be entertained with the best our
house will afford."

Beaton folded her work, rose, passed near their friend without
recognition, and descended to the kitchen, where she gave orders
for a sumptuous repast, though there was nothing in her house
to furnish it. She then returned to her work, saying that it would
be time enough to dress for dinner in an hour or more, mean-
while her brother would entertain their guest, and the doctor
would excuse her; for indeed she was very busy. Then she
wailed, rather than sung,

'Twas down in the garden green, sweetheart,

Where you and I did walk ;
But the fairest flower that in my garden grew

Is withered to a stalk.

The doctor, perceiving her pitiably distracted state, advised
I'an to remove her to a change of scene — far away if he could —
and trust to an occurrence that might soon take place to do more
to restore her reason than anything in his power. " Nature," he
observed, " beats all doctors, and maternal instinct supplies the
place of reason, now happily dormant for the assuagement of her
bleeding heart, poor dove."

The old servant, being called and questioned, she confirmed
what the doctor surmised, and further informed him that she was
aware of the intention of William and Beaton to be married
during her master's absence, trusting to have his forgiveness,
when all was done ; then possible to make amends for the
thoughtlessness of youth and love.

The doctor's advice tallied with Fan's inclination. He had
often thought, and at length determined, to leave the wreck of
his property for his creditors, as it was deeply mortgaged, and
the accumulated interest of many years unpaid. He would seek
a home for himself and his sister in Brittany, where he had
formed acquaintances, and where no fancied requirements of
sham gentility and beggarly state would impede his endeavours to
push his fortune by land or sea. Being assured that a trip across
the Channel was likely to prove beneficial to Beaton, who had
often been to sea and enjoyed life on the waves like the sea-bird
after which the smuggler's craft was named ; wearing apparel,
bedding, and a few heirlooms, of no great value, were soon
packed so that they might be ready to leave when the Mur next

"MY NATIVE LAND ADIEU." Ill

made sail for France. Their moveable furniture was placed in
Beaton's portion of the house, where two old servants were
installed to keep possession for her of that, and also of some
garden ground- and pasture land in which she had a life interest.
It was feared there might be some difficulty in persuading the
poor demented woman to embark; yet, when the vessel was
ready, by a harmless deception she was led to connect the
proposed voyage, somehow, with going to meet her lover and
hastening her bridal. So, one day, about a month after Willy
was laid beneath the turf, I' an had a stone placed to mark the
spot, and — following a very ancient custom in St. Levan — planted
rosemary, box, lillies, and other garden flowers on the grave, over
which he and his crew shed many tears. The following night
I'an, with his sister, bade farewell to the ancient home of their
forefathers, now rendered doubly sad to him by the remembrance
of Taskes's ill-fated death, and his sister's melancholy plight.

Little more was then heard of either brother or sister.
Penberth men, belonging to I'an's crew, purchased his share of
their vessel, and before they left port, Beaton was lodged at a
farm house, where she was kindly nursed ; and it was hoped that,
ere long, maternal cares might tend to restore her reason and
somewhat relieve her anguish for her lover's untimely death.
I'an was well known at the port, where they had long traded, as
an expert seaman and good navigator, and he soon obtained the
command of a ship. For a long while the old servants lived in
Beaton's part of the house, hoping for her return, and cultivated
the small quantity of ground that belonged to her. But no
tidings ever reached them of either sister or brother ; and when
the two old servants died — it being supposed that their mistress
was also dead, and her portion fallen in hand — I'an's creditors
took possession of it.

UNEXPECTED VISITORS.

With fairest flowers,

Whilst summer lasts, and I live here, Fidele,
I'll sweeten thy sad grave.

Cymbeline.

A little above Penberth Cove, and near the Green, there is an
ancient cottage in an orchard. In this dwelling lived an old
dame called Joan Taskes, who kept a kind of public-house,
as liquors and other goods were entrusted to her, by smugglers,
for sale.

One afternoon, about nineteen or twenty years after Willy's

112 THE I'AN'S HOTTSE OF TREEX.

death — when he and the I'ans were almost forgotten — An' Joan,
whilst busy spinning flax with a treadle-turn heard a knock at
her open door, and, thinking it was somebody come to buy
liquor, or "honey-pins" — a sweet apple for which her orchard
was noted — without rising she called out, " Come 'e in cheeld,
and don't 'e stay knacking at the door." But An' Joan was
rather startled when, on looking round, she saw two ladies
standing near her. They were both tall. One appeared about
fifty and the other near twenty years of age. Their dresses
made her think they must be foreigners. The elder was clad in
some kind of white woollen stuff, by whatever name one might
call her garb : it had loose, hanging sleeves, and its ample folds
were confined by a girdle to her waist. Over her head she wore a
square of black serge ; its ends hanging on her shoulders, and
shading her face, gave it a pallid appearance, which was rendered
somewhat ghastly by a white linen band across her forehead. The
younger wore a silver-grey dress of more ordinary mode, and for
head-dress a lace veil that covered, without concealing, her
braided dark brown hair.

An' Joan, rising, drew out her form and said, " Pray be seated,
ladies, and excuse me, as I thought you might have been some
neighbours' children knocking at the door."

"We called," the elder lady replied, to enquire if there be
any small dwelling unoccupied in Penberth, or Treen, or in any
place near."

"Be pleased to sit, ladies, and leave me think a moment,"
said the dame ; " but I havn't heard of any place that would be
good enough for you, and the only one I know of, close at hand,
is Chynance. Why it seems to me," she continued, " as if I had
heard the sound of your voice, years agone, somewhere, but
can' t call 'e to mind."

" Look at me well, Aunt Joan," the lady rejoined, " and tell
me if you can think of anyone you ever saw like me."

The dame having adjusted her barnacles, peered at the lady's
face and at length said in tremulous tones, "You can't be a
spirit to come here high by day ! Yet now I look at 'e again
there's the dark brown eyes, straight nose, small mouth, and
pitted chin of our poor lost Beatie ! You can't be she ? But
with that white band across your forehead one can't see a lock of
your hair ; her's was of the darkest chesnut colour ; besides the
the black kerchief or scarf, over your head, shades your face."

" If you saw my hair, now nearly as white as your own, you
wouldn't know me by that," the lady answered. " But don't be
frightened, dear An' Joan," continued she, in folding back her
veil, "look again and you will see Beatrice I'an, and this dear
girl is my daughter Mary."

JOAN'S DWELLING. 113

An' Joan sprung from her seat, kissed Mary, clasped Beaton
to her breast, and wept aloud for joy. She then took from her
cupboard a bottle of brandy and another of sweet-drink (mead),
filled two rummers with a mixture of the strong and sweet,
saying, ' ' Hear, dears, drink this, and help yourselves to more
while I get something for 'e to eat before I hear another word."
The old dame skipped about as if the sight of Beaton and her
daughter had made her twenty years younger.

In a few minutes An' Joan fried fish, boiled eggs, and placed
on the board milk, cream, and butter, with bread and honey,
apple pasties, a jug of beer, and more bottles of her choice
cordials. When all three had done ample justice to the repast,
Beaton, looking round the dwelling, said, "Now Aunt Joan, I
am again at home and as happy as I can ever hope to be, but I
always felt like one banished for all the years I dwelt in the land
where Mary was born and bred. Everything here looks the same
as long ago, when my delight was to run down for some of your
choice fruit a,nd sweet flowers, and to play with your turns till you
learnt me to spin just as well as yourself." Seeing Mary's gaze
fixed on the dresser, she continued, "You may well admire
that, dear, and all its shelves contain ; a dresser is the crowning
glory of every Cornish cottage. You have never seen such
quaint looking old jugs, ornamented with queer figures and wry
faces, grinning amidst flowers and fruit, as those on the upper
shelf; see on the next there are bright coloured glasses with
long threaded or twisted stems, and scores of rare pretty things
besides, brought from over sea or saved from wrecks ; the dresser-
bed is covered with a cloth as white as snow, and many ladies
would covet the bowls and other vessels of old china that rest
on it ; and one might take the bright pewter flagons and platters
for silver. A brass warming-pan, such as you see on the other
side, is an article for ornament rather than use, but every couple
here, however poor, think they must get one before they be
married. And that shelf of wooden trenches, butter-prints,
mustard-bowls, and other ' temberan things,' scoured with
' gard,' have a look of cleanliness not to be surpassed by more
costly furniture."

On the chimney-piece they might have noticed an hour-glass
between tall brass candlesticks, branches of choral, sea-birds'
eggs, sea-urchins, and foreign shells. Turning to An' Joan,
Beaton remarked as if delighted, "there, too, beside the door
is the same sweet-brier ; rosemary, thyme, and other sweet flowers,
blooming all over the garden ; and the house swarming with
bees, as of old, coming and going through the open window, and
alighting on your cap as if to tell e' they were going on well, and
to see how you were looking."

114 THE I'AN'S HOUSE OF TREEN.

" I hope, dears, you are now come home to live for the rest of
your days," said Joan. " Your grand old house is cut to pieces,
and three families dwelling in it ; but most of your furniture is
still there, packed away in the best chamber, with all in that
room as you left it, and the door hasn't been unlocked for many
years, — scarcely opened, indeed, since you last slept there."
Beaton replied to the effect that during all the time she lived
abroad, her greatest desire was to return and end her days where
she was born, and to be buried beside the one she loved above
all the world ; and that she intended, after a short rest, to go
along the cliff to church-town to see his grave, and that she
wished to go alone.

"Poor dear Willy, the Lord rest with him," said An' Joan,
"you will see by his grave that he hasn't been forgotten. On
his breast there's a rosemary, the pride of my heart, grown to a
bush that overtops his tombstone ; a box-tree grows at the foot,
and betwixt them sweet-brier, tansy, herb-of-grace, and such
other long-lived and evergreen plants as are good for remem-
brance, besides a border of pinks and lillies. You'll see that
none in the church-hay have been more lovingly tended, for I
and others have planted on his grave fresh flowers when old
ones died."

When Cribba Head threw its shadow over the water, Beaton
started on her sad pilgrimage, saying to her daughter, who
wished to accompany her, " Remain, dear, with our old friend;
tell her all about your uncle John, and how we lived in Brittany ;
she is longing to know but don't like to ask."

The kind dame took Mary round her garden, well stocked with
sweet old-fashioned flowers and many hives of bees ; then
passing through her orchard from one tree of choice fruit to
another, equally good, they came to a clear brook, overhung by
branches weighed down by their load of apples, pears, and

Elums that often fell in the stream and floated out to sea, unless
)und on their passage by children who often watched the water,
gurgling among reeds and rocks below the orchard, for An'
Joan's apples and plums.

Milking time being come, tfoan took her bucket, and they
went up to Penberth Green, where the old dame's cow — little
and good — was waiting to be milked. At that time, and long
after, almost every cotter kept a cow, which found sufficient
pasture in green lanes, and commons. An' Joan, having
finished her out-door evening work, made a mullet-and-parsley
pie, as that was a favourite supper dish. When placed on the
hearth to bake, she said, " I have, for many years, been longing
to know how it fared with your mother and uncle, and had given
up all hopes of ever again seeing them, not knowing if they

CHYNANCE. 115

were alive or dead ; and you, poor lonely flower, have no other
relations on your mother's side that I know of."

"I have a good many cousins in Brittany," replied Mary, " as
my uncle has a large family." She then related what she had
heard from her mother, and what she remembered, to the effect
that when I' an settled in Brittany he hired a small farm, and
soon after married a person of good property. For a short time,
he cultivated the land acquired by his marriage, but he soon
tired of a farmer's life, and went to sea as captain of a large
ship ; he was often away for years together. Mary seldom saw
him, as there appeared to be little desire, on the part of brother
or sister, for such intimacy. Yet, on his return from a voyage,
he always sent them money and goods, which they didn't require,
because Beaton, by her spinning, and Mary, by her lace-work
and embroidery, gained more than sufficed for their needs. Her
uncle often took her lace-work abroad, where he traded, and
brought her more for it than its weight in gold.

Although they wanted for nothing, and everybody was kind to
them, Beaton was always pining to return ; and in spite of I'an's
wishes for them to remain, she made a vow that before Mary
became of age, she would go home and pass the rest of her life in
the practice of some devotion for the repose of Mary's father.
About a week ago, Beaton having heard there was a smuggling
craft from Cornwall in a cove near their dwelling, she packed up
all her household goods that she cared about, and they left, bag
and baggage, in the boat which landed them in Mousal that
morning. When Mary had just ended her recital, her mother
silently glided in, kissed her, and placed in her bosom a few
flowers, saying, " Cherish these from a garden I prize above all
others, and we will soon plant it with choicest flowers." "And
now," she continued, " we must bid dear Aunt Joan good-bye,
and proceed to Bury an Church-town, where we can remain for
the night." "No, my dears," An' Joan interposed, "there's a
pie baking for your supper, and a spare bed on the talfat as good
as any in Church-town, though I say it ; remain with me till you
have found a better place, or hired Chynance for a time, as there
may be more delay than you calculate before your house in Treen
will be ready for 'e." Both ladies gladly accepted the kind
dame's hearty welcome, and enjoyed her savoury pie and good
ale, of her own brewing ; no woman then expected to get a
husband, unless she knew how to make a good barley-brew, and
they say that people of that day, who drank good beer as their
ordinary beverage, were stronger by far than their descendants,
raised on tea-wash.

Beaton hired Chynance, procured a few articles of furniture —
in addition to what she brought from over sea — also a cow and

116 THE I'AN'S HOUSE OF TBEEN.

poultry; had the garden planted, the house thatched, and
comfortably arranged for winter. Owing to delay in getting
possession of Beaton's property in Treen they lived here a year
or more, and, when all was ready for their removal, Mary would
have much preferred to remain in that sunny sheltered cot,
nestled at the foot of Buryan Hill ; but her mother got into a
restless fidgetty state that caused An' Joan to look more grave
than was her wont. She had heard that as far back as there
was any record, many of the I'an family — particularly the
women — when between forty- five and fifty years of age, either
went mad or died ; and she feared that the gloomy grandeur of
Beaton's old home, with the sad remembrances, likely to be
renewed thereby, would tend to bring on this family infirmity.
It was all in vain, however, for Mary to say, " Dear mother let
us remain here in this sunny nook, where flowers grow all the
year ; spotted trout sport in the stream ; and our goats, lambs,
and poultry can range at their own sweet will." When all was
arranged in Beaton's part of the mansion, so as to give it an air
of its former state, thither they removed, but still retained
Chynance for the sake of having pasture for their cow, and to
please Mary, who took a great fancy to it.

Beaton was not in her old habitation many days when she had
her ' turn ' and other spinning utensils taken into the chamber
where Taskes breathed his last. There she passed most of her
time, and often kept all night at her work ; the rumble of her
spinning-wheel and doleful noises that she frequently made, soon
caused those living in parts of the house, not in her possession,
to quit rather than have their rest nightly disturbed ; and she
rejoiced that the house was cleared of all strangers and inter-
lopers, as she styled its other occupants. Often she would be
away to St. Levan churchyard at dead of night — unknown to
Mary and their servant — pass hours, in prayer it was supposed,
beside Willy's grave ; and bring thence flowers, wet with
morning dew, to be kept in her chamber, and when withered all
were laid by in her chest. This penance, as much inspired by
love as enjoined by her faith, was duly observed, in spite of her
failing health. On dark, stormy nights, she would often be met
wandering along the cliffs between Church-town and Treen ; or
seen kneeling on the rock where her lover received his fatal
hurt.

Many persons were startled by encountering, at unexpected
times, her phantom-like figure, gliding along the cleves or
amongst the earns of Castle-Treen, in her strange dress of white
robe, black veil, and ghastly linen band across her forehead,
that made her look like one escaped from a grave in a winding-
sheet and shroud. It was evident that Beaton was at times

BEATON'S WEDDING-DRESS. 117

insane ; yet, sad as such, a state seems, it may not have been the
most melancholy portion of this poor soul's destiny ; for when
her mind was burthened with more grief than it could bear, her
reason became unsettled, and her memory infolded with clouds
that were often of roseate hue. Old crones whispered that they
had heard of more than one Beatrice I' an, and men of that
family as well, who went crazy ; and that their madness began
in melancholy seclusion, and the practice of old-fashioned
devotions that few cared about since they were declared Popish
and unlawful. Yet, the same old dames took good care to
preserve many charms for the cure of diseases, and to use them
as in Catholic times, and the same are retained and practised by
their descendants to this day, with others that are probably
transmitted from an age when sun-worship was in vogue.

As Penberth and Mousal fair-traders maintained a constant
intercoursenvith Roscroff, I'an's family often sent Beaton presents
of flax, clothing, and other goods ; they did not require them,
however, for Mary, like her mother, was an excellent spinster
and skilful in embroidery and lace-work. Treen being a noted
place for good weavers, they provided them with plenty of
spinning- work; and when Mary showed her rare lace to An' Joan,
she assured her that ladies, within a short distance, paid large
sums to smugglers for what was no better. The old dame took
it round to gentlemen's seats, and soon returned with much more
money than Mary expected for her wares ; and with orders for
more lace-work than she could execute in a long time.

Beaton's lucid intervals became less and less frequent. When
crazy fits prevailed, she seemed happy, nay joyful ; but when
reason, — such as it was, — or more sober moods intervened, she
would talk regretfully, often moaning to herself, " The Lord help
me, alas it was all my fault, I brought blood on my brother's
head, he can never have rest, nor I, no, nevermore, not even in the
grave." One of her strange freaks was to sleep by day and to
visit the churchyard or spin by night. Sometimes she knitted
stockings and other things for her Willy ; these were to be put
in her coffin. She would often say, "Willy, dear, I am working
for thee, love, and will soon fetch thee back ; we will live here,
nobody shall ever put us out of this chamber. Oh ! what delight
I took in spinning years ago, when thou didst card the wool of
winter's nights. I can never pass the time in singing, for ever
singing. I should be weary in a day, and would rather spin
the time away with thee to card the wool ; and as of old thou
shalt give me a kiss, such a long sweet kiss, with every rull I
take from the cards."

Her last whim was to spin and knit herself a shroud, which
she called her wedding-dress. This was made of the whitest

118 THE I'AN'S HOUSE OF TREEN.

and finest lamb's- wool she could procure. Mary, to please her,
had to give much of her best lace for trimming this ' wisht '
garment ; and at length after much alteration, she had it to her
mind, and repeated to her daughter and An' Joan all her whimsical
fancies about her bridal arrangements, as she called her funeral
ceremonies. The following night she walked alone to the church-
yard, and returned late. •

About midnight Mary, as was her custom, looked into her
mother's room, and saw by the glimmering light of a chill (iron
lamp), hanging on the wall, her mother sitting in a high-backed
chair, apparently in a sweet sleep, with a placid smile on her
countenance ; as she sometimes dosed in her chair, Mary, loath
to disturb her, stepped quietly back to her own room ; but feeling
uneasy from her mother's unusual silence she lay awake till day-
break and then returned to her mother. On approaching her,
Mary noticed that over a fine white dress she wore her shroud,
with its face-cloth turned back on her head. Mary took her hand,
and feeling it cold and stiff, the truth struck her that her mother
was dead. Yet she hoped that it might only be a trance, as she
looked so life-like and pleasant, as when asleep, in her happiest
moods. But a neighbour, who was called in, assured Mary that
her mother had been dead some hours. "Yet to behold her
thus," said the dame, " sitting in her chair, with fresh flowers in
her bosom, the hour-glass beside her, and beads in her hand, one
would think she had only fallen asleep whilst saying her prayers ;
the Lord rest her poor soul." On looking round, when the rising
sun-beams streamed in through an open window, they saw that
her best quilt was spread on the bed, and on that the clothes
Taskes wore on that unlucky night when he received his death-
wound, and other things that belonged to him. Where, or how,
Beaton could have kept them so long no one knew. An' Joan
had these, and withered flowers, with other things that Beaton
prized, put into her coffin, in hopes to give her spirit rest ; and
Beatrice I' an, according to her oft-repeated request, was laid in
St. Levan churchyard, beside the dust of Willy Taskes.

"And we Treen people," said the old man who related her
story, " would have been glad if she had stayed there, but she
hadn't been under the turf three days when she was back again
and spinning, as she always said she would, in the chamber that
was locked up with everything in it as it stood when she was
carried out ; and it was supposed that other spirits came back
with her, by the capperouse they often made." We will leave
them, however, and their ghostly doings, for a while, to follow
Mary's destiny.

THE PROUD PENDARS. 119

O it is sad ! 0 it is sad

To think of the joys that once I had :

To wander lone over land and sea,

And know that she waits no more for me.

This tress of her fair, soft, chestnut hair,

Is all the cruel grave would spare.

MORTIMER COLLINS.

At Beaton's death, what had been her portion of the property
fell in hand, and Mary removed to Chynance, taking with her a
few such articles of the old furniture as were not too cumbersome
for her small dwelling; but everything in "Beaton's chamber"
was left there for the time, as it stood when she was carried out.
Mary's life had been anything but a cheerful one for the past
year or two, but after her mother's decease she felt very desolate.
Her uncle's family urged her to return and live with them, which
she was inclined to do, as she often said that Brittany seemed
less gloomy to her than this country ; because in the Cornuaille
over the water young and old met, every Sunday at least, at their
parish church, and joined in a dance after service ; besides there
were yearly feasts, in neighbouring parishes on their patron
saints' days, to which people flocked from miles away ; they were
hospitably entertained, without regard to rank, at the feasten
board ; and all regarded it as a sort of religious duty to take
part in dancing, hurling, wrestling, and other games that were
continued several days of the feasten week.

"It seems to me like forsaking my poor mother to leave
this place," Mary would say to An' Joan, "but over sea my
cousins are always happy together, and they knew no difference
between me and their sisters ; but here I feel as desolate as a
forsaken bird, though Chynance is a pleasant sunny spot, and
nobody can be kinder to me than you and others who knew my
dear mother." In such like sad complaints she bemoaned her
lonely state, till love came to brighten the scene, for a brief
space.

Mary frequently took her work to Penberth and passed the
afternoons or evenings with An' Joan. As the dame sold liquor
from a noggin to an "anker" (keg), her dwelling was often
pretty well filled with company, of an evening. And Mary often
said that such gatherings of neighbours, to hear news, sing
songs, or relate old stories, reminded her of home, as she called
Brittany.

Now, it so happened, a few months after Mary again settled in
Chynance, she was one afternoon on a visit to An' Joan, when a
young officer, home on a furlough from a man-of-war, entered
the dwelling, saluted An' Joan — who had known him from a
child — and called for brandy and cordials to treat the dame and

120 THE FJUra HOUSE OF TKEEN.

himself; by the time they were seated for cosy chat, Mary entered
with baskets of fruit from the orchard. The young sailor rose,
saluted her, and seemed surprised to see one — apparently an
inmate of Joan's — with the dress and demeanour of a lady ; her
broken English, with Breton accent, betokened her to be a
foreigner. "Don't 'e disturb yourself, Mr. Pendar," said An'
Joan, "this young lady, poor dear, all the same to me as a
daughter, is the damsel Mary I'an."

Mr. Pendar — who is said to have been one of those who
then lived in Pendrea — had heard some gossip, on his first
arrival at home, about the good looks, rare accomplishments, and
strange history of this waif of the I'an's ; and how she had
refused many offers of marriage from, farmers' sons that were
thought good chances for her. Young Pendar took a liking
at first sight to the poor orphan, and his love was not more
sudden than honest and constant ; and her feelings towards the
young sailor must have been equally favourable, one may
suppose, as they often met at Penberth and elsewhere, and
purposed to be wedded on his next return from a short voyage.
But the artless sailor and simple maiden made their calculations
without his parents' consent. Little thought Mary, and less
cared her lover, about what the old Pendars styled the stain on
her paternity, or their talk about disowning or disinheriting.
The brave heart of oak but little regarded his mother railing
in bitter terms, of Mary's poverty and base birth, and of Beaton's
youthful failing ; or his father saying, " that as he made his bed
he might lie on it ; that if he wedded one of nought, he should
be cut off with a shilling." But more devilry was set to work
than the youngster knew of.

At parting, to join his ship, he told his father to keep his
shilling, as he cared not for anything he had to withhold or
bestow, that he saw no reason why the daughter should suffer
for her parents' failings ; he thought they had undergone more
than enough themselves, and that he was determined to win
fortune and choose a wife for himself. On taking leave of
Mary he assured her that when he returned from a short voyage
he would make her his bride.

Pendar left home to join his ship, which he thought would
make but a short voyage.

Many months elapsed, but Mary had no tidings of her affianced
lover ; and, about the time she expected his return a report was
circulated that he was killed in a naval engagement. As months
rolled on and brought no other intelligence, Mary too readily
believed the common talk ; and, poor grieved soul, for many an
hour she would sit, all alone, on a rock beside the shore, look
wistfully out to sea, and chant some old Breton melody about

JOHN I'AN'S DEATH. 121

meeting her true-love in the fairy orchards of Avalon. And her
wild song, by the moaning waves, was sad to hear as a funeral
dirge. Like a blasted flower she pined and died, and was laid
beside her parents, when the young seaman, her lover, was hasten-
ing homeward in hopes to make her his bride.

Pendar arrived at Penberth with a good store of prize-money,
heard, with anguish, how Mary had died of a broken heart, all
through a vile scheme of his parents, who spread the sad rumour,
and had no reason to think him dead ; because they, unknown
to him, contrived to have him drafted to a cruiser that was sent
to protect merchantmen in distant seas. He was kept in ignor-
ance of his destination, and had no means to inform Mary that
years might elapse before his return. He left home without
seeing his father or mother, and never more returned to Buryaii ;
yet 'tis said that he became renowned as a brave naval com-
mander, and died unmarried.

AVithin a few days of Mary's death, her uncle made a trip to
Fowey, with a cargo of contraband goods, and on his return
voyage, shaped his course for the Land's End, intending to land
in Mount's Bay, to visit his niece, and persuade her to return
with him. His ship approached land off Penberth ; the sea
being smooth, he ran her close in, near the cove, that he might
be taken ashore in his ship's boat. It so happened that his old
craft was running for the cove in this Autumn evening's twilight
with a thick fog. The Mur's crew mistook I'an's vessel, beating
the same course, for a revenue cutter, and one of the hands fired
a random shot between " wind and water" that killed their
former commander, as he was about to step into his boat ; some
say it was on the very evening of his niece's funeral. The
Breton crew fired on the Mur, and sunk her. Almost all Pen-
berth men were on board, and the greatest part of them were
drowned within hail of the cove and their dwellings. I' an was
taken home to be buried, in Brittany, and his family dropped
all intercourse with their father's native place.

It was not known here till years after the fatal mishap that
I' an was killed by a shot from the lilur, or that it was his ship's
company who sent many of his old crew to a watery grave.

122 THE I'AN'S HOUSE or TREEN.

THE TAN'S GHOSTS.

We have no title-deeds to house or lands,

Owners and occupants of earlier dates
From graves forgotten stretch their dusty hands,

And hold in mortmain still their old estates.

LONGFELLOW.

Now that ghostly visits are rare, many persons may be scep-
tical of what is said of this haxinted house, and we shall only
relate a few of the most remarkable stories. Shortly afte,r
Beatrice died, noises like the rumble of a spinning-wheel and
clicking of cards, with unnatural shrieks, were often heard in
" Beaton's chamber," which remained locked up, with its furni-
ture just as it was when she died ; persons passing by the house
at night, who had courage to cast a glance at its windows, saw in
that room and others a glimmer of light, and shadowy forms
flitting to and fro. But almost everybody hurried by without
casting an eye towards the house, or took a roundabout way rather
than run the ri.sk of having a fright or their rest disturbed by a
remembrance of those strange apparitions.

Over a while'lt seemed as if more spirits joined those that first
arrived, till at length they made such a 'rattle-cum-stave' through-
out the whole house that it was left for years unoccupied, — by
mortal tenants at least. The turn continued its rumble upstairs,
and what had formerly been kitchen, hall, and parlour, seemed
filled with a revelrout all night long, and folks were often
dismayed by unnatural appearances outside the house. Towards
night clouds of fog would roll in from over sea, settle around the
Tan's premises, and become denser and darker till the place
seemed shrouded in tlumder-clouds; then lights would Hash
around the house, and such sounds be heard as if made by
discharges of small fire-arms, with a roar of cannon now and
then; one would, also, hear the surging and splashing of waves.
Happing of sails, creaking of blocks and tackle, with other
hounds usually heard on shipboard, till this apparition rose high
above the houses, drifted away seaward, and disappeared.

Sometimes all lights in the house would go out, at the same
instant, without any visible cause; this was such a common
occurrence that the inmates would merely say, "that's Beaton
come again ; but, never mind, we shall soon hear her spinning,
then we may light the candles again, and hope to be left quiet
for a time." When people would persist and occupy the house,
it was often troubled by day, and all its mortal inmates, both
man and beast, would be seized with fear, and run to doors, at
times when nothing unusual was seen or heard. Often in the
height of a clear summer's day, a blast of chilly air, with a

GHOSTLY PEANKS. 123

grave-like scent, would pervade the old duelling ; then children
would screech, dogs howl, cats, with their hair bristled up, rush
out of doors, or smash through windows, if doors were closed.
The cats never returned, and died of fright when they couldn't
escape the house. There's no end of stories about the ghostly
pranks that were acted here for more than a century, and we
shall only relate another.

A carpenter, who was working about the place, said he
didn't believe that all the I'an's spirits would make him quit the
house or Beaton's chamber even ; and he waged a pint of brandy
that he would see, that very night, what made the racket there,
and hail the spirits if he saw any. That he might have a sight
of them, without more ado, he bored an auger-hole in Beaton's
chamber door. Having primed himself with drink, when night
came, and the usual noises began, he fixed himself close to the
door and peeped in. At first he only beheld a faint light
glimmering over the bed, and what looked like a dead man
stretched thereon, with shadowy figures moving about the room ;
then he saw more distinctly, and made out a woman, dressed in
grave clothes, sitting on a chair beside the bed.

Then the chamber became so dark that he could see nothing
of the figures on the bed and in the chair but their eyes, that shone
with purple light. The woman's eyes — he could see nothing else
but her eyes glistening like coals of fire — arose from the bedside
and approached the door, and still the carpenter could only see
a pair of flaming orbs when they were within a few inches of his
face ; and he — terror-struck or spell-bound — had neither power
to move away, nor to withdraw his gaze. There he stood like
one rivetted to the spot for minutes, that seemed hours, till a
blast of cold air smote his face, and something pierced his eye
like a red-hot nail. He fell on the floor, was found insensible
when raised, and he ever remained blind of one eye.

There was but little rest for anyone duelling in the I'an's
house until some years after Parson Corker came to Buryan ;
and, at first, he made many fruitless attempts to confine those
unresting spirits to their graves. He ordered that the locked-up
chamber should be opened, and all its furniture burned — as no
one would venture to make use of anything therein — and he
would try again what could be done.

So one night the reverend gentleman came over from Tresidder
— where he lived with his cousins the Tresillians ; — a good num-
ber assembled ; they broke open Beaton's chamber-door, and
began to throw out the furniture, but they found it a more diffi-
cult job than was expected. Turns, chests, chairs, tables, were
soon cleared out, and a great hanging-press was smashed to
pieces, tossed through a window, and added to the blazing pile on

124 THE I'AN'S HOUSE OF TREEN.

an open space fronting the house. They found it, however, no
such easy work to break up the grand caryed-oak bedstead,
which must have been made and put together in the room,
because neither its tester nor its head would pass through the
doorway. In this bed-head were two deep recesses, ornamented
at their backs and all around with carved foliage, framing the
names and ages of some old I'an or Ivan and his wife, who pro-
bably had this bedstead made when their house was built. High
up on either side of these recesses, between them and the tester
— among flowers and creeping plants— were boldly carved faces,
supposed to be those of the family ; they were all very much
alike, with peaked beards, wonderful high foreheads, and long
noses, — straight as a line. Bedding, rich hangings, and old
raiment, very grand in their day, were rotten and gone to dust.
"When all was at length cleared out and blazing in the town-
place, the parson entered to conclude his work by sprinkling
salted water all about ; at the same time he repeated long words,
spells, or incantations in Latin, because that tongue was said to
be more respected by devils and restless spirits than any vulgar
dialect. He also performed other ceremonies, whose use and
practice were only known to learned divines.

But it is doubtful whether the reverend exorcist did any good
on that occasion. For whilst Treen folks made a bonfire of what
had been the I'an's furniture, he or the spirits raised an awful
tempest; houses were unroofed, walls blown down, and other
damage done throughout the neighbourhood and far away.
Meanwhile, ghostly forms were seen and unearthly voices heard,
high up over flames and smoke, making derisive shouts like
demons' laughter. They seemed to enjoy the fun, whilst many
people cursed the parson for rising such a storm. One can't say
how his best endeavours failed to lay these unruly ghosts. But

" Perchance some form was unobserved,
Perchance in prayer or faith he swerved ; ''

for on the following night troops of spirits arrived at their
accustomed hour and made as much disturbance as ever. Then
Mr. Corker — determined to rout them — sought advice and
assistance from the most remarkable " spirit-queller " of that
time, one parson Polkinghorne, who belonged to some parish
east of Penzance.

It was believed, of this Parson Polkinghorne, that no spirits
walking the earth could resist his spells, and that, when other
exorcists failed to obtain a mastery over an obdurate one, this
gentleman no sooner joined them than the poor ghosts would
exclaim — like that of old Squire Harris, of Kenegie — "Now,
Polkinghorne, thee art come and I must be gone ! " And he at

THE GHOSTS LAID. 125

once sent the shadow off to its grave and there confined it for
evermore.

One night, a week or so after the unsuccessful attempt, the two
parsons — arrayed in their priestly vestments, bearing large books
and a coil of new hempen cord — arrived at the haunted house's
door, and requested all the inmates to quit it before they entered,
and not to attempt to hear or see anything that might take place,
nor to re-enter their dwellings for that night. When all the living
inhabitants had left the house, the reverend exorcists entered it ;
but how they worked to get control over these troublesome
spirits nobody knew but themselves, as they were no more seen
till an hour or so after midnight, when they issued forth and
took their way to Church-town, with the bound spirits in their
company (it is supposed), and, having finished their work in the
graveyard, they, about day-break, aroused the inmates of the
"Scaw-tree" inn, made a hearty breakfast, and returned to
Tresidder.

Now, 'tis said that this Parson Polkinghorne had power, also,
over the spirits of air, or whatever they be, that usually raise the
wind, when ghosts are laid ; for on this night all was so quietly
done that the weather was not, for a wonder, uncommonly stormy.
The I'an's ghosts, however, were settled, that's certain; they
met with their match at last, and quitted their old habitation for
good. From that night their old house was quiet and remained
so for a few years, then part of it was again haunted by the
ghost of a crazy spinster called 'Bitha (Tabitha) who also became
insane from grief at her sweetheart's untimely end. But this
spirit gave little trouble, compared with the former ones, and
took its departure in a few years, of its own accord ; at least we
never heard of anything having being done to " lay " it.

About sixty years ago these almost forgotten traditions were
revived. One Sunday afternoon, in summer time, a carriage
arrived in Treen, stopped near the I'an's house, and a middle-
aged gentleman stepped from the conveyance just as an old man
drew near, who saluted the visitor, and asked if he would be
pleased to accept of his services to show him the Castle ? The
stranger replied, in but indifferent English, that he would like to
know if there were any remains in Treen of an ancient mansion,
or castle, that once belonged to a family called I'an or Ivan, as
he spelt it for Uncle George, who was a most intelligent old
guide and the best chronicler of Treeu.

" Why, there's the dwelling," said he, "that old people always
called the I'an's house, though young ones, thinking to improve
the name, have lately called it the John's house ; but no family
called Johns were ever proprietors of it that I ever heard of."

126 THE I'AW'S HOUSE OF TREEN.

The gentleman looked at the old house, and said that he
expected to find a much grander one.

"Yet, in its day, that was considered far above the common,"
Uncle George remarked ; ' ' and it must have cost much to build
when no wheel-carriages were in use, and timber had to be dogged
(dragged) many miles through narrow lanes, and stones and
other materials were carried on drays, or on horses' backs.
Besides, where you see nothing now but pigs'-crows and turf-
ricks," continued he, in conducting the visitor towards the house,
"there was once a large green-court; and at the back where
you will find little else but dung-pits and heaps of rubbish, there
were more buildings belonging to the house, with a large walled
garden and a rabbit warren beyond."

The gentleman then informed his guide that he was a descen-
dant of an old Catholic family who, between two or three
centuries ago, owned a Castle in Treen and much land in that
neighbourhood, if such traditions and documents as were preserved
in his family might be credited — that he resided in Brittany, to
which place his ancestors had hence removed at a time when
Catholics were much persecuted here — that, being in England
on business and curious to see his family's ancient home, he had
come to Treen for that purpose — and that he would also like to
know if there were any tomb-stone inscriptions, or other records
of them, in St. Levan Church. Besides, he said, that others of
his family had long been desirous to know something of a place
respecting which they had many curious traditions. Moreover, he
informed the old man that the name usually spelt I' an was an
abbreviation of Ivan and equivalent to Juan or plain John ; the
confusion in, or the various modes of, spelling took place,
probably, before J and U replaced I and V, but still the old pro-
nunciation was retained. [The same applies to many old French
names here, that seem to be spelt one way, and pronounced
differently. Take Lanyon as a familiar example, pronounced
Lanine.] This Breton gentleman, whom we may call M. Ivan,
as he spelt his name in full, when shown through the old house
was much disappointed to find its interior a mere wreck, with
little to show that it had ever been a gentleman's residence, except
a few fragments of carved wainscot and ornamental plaster- work
in an apartment that had been a portion of hall or parlour in
olden time. It seems the " gentil Breton" had heard much of
Castle Treyn, and ' Uncle ' was much diverted and surprised to
find that he thought it was a grand building situated in the village,
and hinted that it might have been his ancestor's residence.

"Faix! they must have been the giants then." said the old
man to himself, ' ' for I never heard of anybody else who ever
lived there."

CASTLE TREEN. 127

And, in answer to M. Ivan's enquiries where the Castle was and
if any of it was still standing, "still standing, sir," he exclaimed.
" I believe 'e, faith, and stand it will till Doomsday, unless one
can get out of a rock the Castle-key ; but when that is done, as
Merlin prophecied, all will sink into the sea, whence it was raised
by enchantment, they say, with the giants who dwelt there of
yore. But the Castle isn't here in town ; it's down to cliff,"
continued he, showing the way ; " and we can travel there across
the fields, if you please, while your carriage can go out the lane
and await 'e in Pedny-vounder cliff, if so be that you would like
to ride to Church-town."

As there were many interesting objects to be seen by the way,
the gentleman decided to walk to St. Levan Church also, and his
conveyance remained in Treen. In passing the fields Uncle George
said, " Old folk, who are dead and gone, always held (and I
believe it for truth) that people seldom lived in Castle Treen, or
in any of our cliff or hill-castles, for more than a few days at a
time ; and that was when they had to seek refuge there for their
old people, women, and children, with their flocks and other
property, from the Danes and other northern robbers who used to
land at Parcurno, Penberth, and elsewhere, to ravage the country,
carry off women, and do worse mischief than that, if the hair that
crops up every now and then in some families may be taken as
evidence. But the red-haired pirates were soon put to rout, and
then nobody remained in our stronghold of Treen Dynas except a
man to keep watch from Castle Peak."

He might have remarked, too, that the old proprietors of Treen
held to a tradition that Kaerkeis bowjey and barn were as old as
the Castle, and were built in that out-of-the-way place for the
purpose of storing fodder for cattle near the stronghold against
an invasion. They also believed that valuables were, at such
times, hastily buried in the Castles; those who secreted the
property being slain, nobody knew where to find it. As a proof
of the probability of such a belief, within the old guide's remem-
brance, about the quantity of two quarts of ancient Eoman and
other coins were found within or near Castle Maen. The heap of
coins were simply placed in a pile, on a flat stone, and enclosed
by three others set on edge and capped. The whole was buried
in a bank of earth and small stones that formed part of an
old hedge or gurgo. Probably some of these coins may still
be found among old folks of Sennen. The writer had many
of them, when too young to know the value of such interesting
objects.

Having passed the fields and ascended the rising ground
beyond, M. Ivan asked where the Castle was — he could behold
nothing like a building between them and the sea, towards

128 THE I'Atf's HOUSE OF TREE3T.

which they had shaped their course.

"We are already within it," replied the venerable guide, "and
have passed the outer wall through a breach where it is levelled
and the ditch filled in to make a road. I ought to have pointed
it out to 'e. The outer mound is little short of half a mile long.
Hundreds of cartloads of stones have been carried away from the
walls for building houses and hedges. Yet on Kaerkeis side,
where it isn't easily reached, some of it is still pretty perfect ;
except, indeed, where our youngsters have bowled the stones over
cliff for their Sunday afternoon's sport; and it would be just as
well, or better, ' seeman ' to me, that they were allowed to have
their wrestling and hurling-matches at such times, to keep them
from doing mischief, like they had in their great-grandfars' days,
when folks were quite as good, and to my 'seeman,' better than
they are now, for all that constables do and duffans say."

We can't follow the old guide through the long story he used
to relate of what passed between hini and the Armonican gentle-
man. Having shown the Castle and related the legends of giants,
small people, &c., connected with this enchanted spot, they
passed along the cliff to St. Levan Church. Service was over
and the congregation dispersed, but the church-door key being
kept at the inn, they inspected the church to see if any memorial
of the I'ans was to be found, butno thing connected with them
was observed in carved shields or bench-ends, nor elsewhere.
Parish registers — if any remained two centuries old — he had no
opportunity to see.

They also visited St. Levan' s Well and Chapel. The old man
pointed out a long flight of steps that may still be traced best
part of the way from the spring to the ancient chapel's site. The
gentleman took particular interest in the ancient cliff oratories,
with their holy wells, and in every spot along their way hallowed
by saintly legend. In returning from Chapel-Curno, as the
little oratory over Parcurno used to be called, they were met at
the foot of Carnole hill by a gentleman of Penzance, who used
occasionally to preach at the Methodist Chapel in Sowah. This
gentleman often returned thence to Treen (where he usually re-
mained over night) by way of St. Levan Church and along the
cliffs. He knew Uncle George very well ; for they often dis-
puted about what the old man styled a new-fashioned religion.
Yet they were always great friends.

The gentlemen were introduced and walked together to Treen.
By the way M. Ivan related how curiosity had led him to visit
Treen, and that he was, on the whole, gratified with his visit,
though quite taken down- in his exaggerated ideas (as transmitted
by family traditions) of their former importance here ; and thought
the foregoing tragic story, which the old man related in part, just

CORIflSH CASTLES. 129

as probable a reason for bis ancestor's departure as that of re-
ligious persecution ; yet be believed tbey were always attached
to, and held, the old faith. When they arrived at Treen he
handsomely rewarded the intelligent old guide, and was about to
leave when the preaching gentleman proposed for M. Ivan to
take tea with him at the house where he put up. The invitation
was accepted, and he was regaled with bread, cream, and honey
— the produce of what was once his family's acres.

Mr. Richard Edmonds remarks that "Treryn Castle, Maen
Castle, Chun Castle, Castle-an-Dinas, and several other cliff-
castles, and hill-castles, in the Land's End district, have been in
existence probably between two and three thousand years. And
Treryn Castle, with its high massive vallum, deep ditch, and the
foundations of its stone wall, twelve feet thick, presents so little
temptation either to the agriculturist or to the builder, that its
existing remains, vast as they are, need no Society's protection
for their continued duration for generations yet to come.

All castles, of course, do, or did once contain dwellings of some
kind for their occupants. But the low huts which once stood
within the castles near Penzance (although considerable remains
of such dwellings in Chun Castle were extant in Borlase's time)
have now almost everywhere disappeared. It was, not however,
from these rude huts, but from the fortifications enclosing them,
that our very ancient castles derived their name ; and not one of
them, at the present day, appears more worthy of being thus
called than at Treryn Castle."

CASTLE TKEEN AND ITS LEGEITDS.

" I cannot tell how the truth may be,
I say the tale as 'twas said to me."

SCOTT.

LD traditions say that the headlands of Castle
Treen, or rather Trereen, on which the Logan
Rock earn and adjacent crags stand, was raised
out of the sea by enchantment. This portion of
the stronghold, enclosed by the inner line of
defence, running directly across the isthmus, is generally spoken
of as The Castle, and that between it and the outer or landward
embankments is usually called Treen Dynas.

THE KEY OF THE CASTLE.

It is not known what powerful magician raised this giant's
hold, though it was believed that its security depended on a
magic stone called "the key of the Castle," respecting which
Merlin had something to say, as well as about many other re-
markable stones in the neighbourhood. Castle Treen, however,
must have stood where it is long before Arthur and his magician
visited West Cornwall.

The key was an egg-shaped stone, between two and three feet
long, which was contained in the cavity of a rock with a hole
facing the sea, through which it might be turned round ; and the
opening appeared large enough for it to be passed through.
Many attempted to get it out, but they always found it to hitch
somewhere ; and lucky (according to old folks' faith) that it did,
because the sage Merlin, prophecied that when the key of the
Castle was taken out of the hole, Men Amber (the holy rock)
would be overthrown, the Castle sink beneath the ocean, and
other calamities occur.

The key was situated near the bottom of a deep chasm called
The Gap, which is passed on approaching the Logan Eock by the
usual path. It required a sure-footed climber, of strong nerve,
to reach it, and this could only be done from land, at low water,
or nearly so.

•WEST COUNTRY GIANTS. 131

Surging waves occasionally changed the position of this magic
stone, and from the direction of its smaller end, as it lay in a
trough of water, prognostics were drawn with regard to the
seasons, &c.

Few persons had sufficient hardihood to descend the precipitou .
cliff and risk being caught in The Gap by a flowing tide ; anc
the key of the Castle remained a mysterious and venerated object
till Goldsmith's mischievous tars, or the dockyard men who were
employed in erecting machinery to replace Men Amber (as the
stone they overthrew was formerly called) heard of it and the
traditions connected therewith. Then, one day, some of these
wretches, on farther mischief bent, entered The Gap in a boat,
and, being provided with crow bars, they broke away the edges
of the rock that enclosed the key, ripped it out, and tumbled it
down among the sea- washed pebbles ! Some calamity has surely
befallen these wretches ere this, or Bad Luck is a mere name,
and powerless as an avenging deity.

Part of Merlin's prophecy was fulfilled, however, yet not in
the order predicted.

The venerated nodule was what is called, among miners, a
"bull's eye," or "pig's egg," of large size. It appeared to be a
closer-grained and harder stone than what surrounded it.

GIANTS or CASTLE TREEN.

The earliest inhabitants of this stronghold were giants who
protected the neighbouring people in return for cattle and other
necessaries with which the last-named provided their powerful
friends, as was usiial here in olden times.

An aged giant, his childless wife, and their adopted son, are
the only ones of whom connected traditions are handed down by
old folks of Treen. Not only this giant (how we wish the
chroniclers had preserved his name) and his wife but all people
who depended on his protection, particularly those of Treen and
bordering places, were much grieved and disappointed when
they found their giant and giantess were middle-aged and had
no children who would aid them in old age and perpetuate the
race.

The giantess, having no household to think about, grew, as
most unemployed women do, peevish and troublesome. The
giant, having little or no work to occupy himself with, grew fat
and lazy. Quiet and good-tempered as he was, he was dread-
fully tormented by his wife. She called him a lazy, useless old
loon ; and said he was too fat, and didn't take exercise enow.
When he had nothing else to employ himself about, in peaceful

132 CASTLE TREEN AND ITS LEGENDS.'

times, she told him that he should log the rock, for a few hours
every day, to stretch his sinews and make his blood circulate
brisker, instead of dozing away all day and night in his chair,
which may still be seen. "Go thee way'st," said she; "swim
over to the Dollar Kocks, it's only two miles or so ; dive round
them and catch me a few good big congers; I want their fat
to make a cake. And the pollock and cod that feed among the
ore- weed thereabouts are excellent eating."

The dissatisfied woman's advice was sometimes taken. He
would swim away, and, in an hour or two, bring her home a
string of fish of a furlong's length.

Then he would log Men Amber for a bit. This he could easily
do with the tip of his finger, when standing on the grass below
it ; for the rock is only 30 feet or so from the grass, and Treen
giant stood at least 40 feet high, without his boots. He was
stout in proportion, and his strength of arm was prodigious.
Sometimes, with his staff, he kept the sacred stone in motion
when seated in his chair, just opposite it. But often it happened,
when getting through his exercise by the latter mode, that he
fell asleep, long ere the sand was down in his wife's hour-glass.
And then she, the faggot, would pelt her quiet husband with
rocks, heaps of which may still be seen, lying loose, just as they
flew from her hand and dropped at no great distance from the
poor giant's chair. He would wake up, with a sore head, to
hear her say, in a voice like a bellowing bull, " Stop thy snoring,
thou confounded old fool, and work away, west ah ? or I'll
pommel thy noddle to browse."

" What the deuce shall I do to stop her tongue and cure her
temper? Can 'e tell me, my good people ? " He would often say
to Treen folks and others, who visited him of a summer's
evening ; "she's the most troublesome woman I ever heard of!"

All kinds of employment were suggested. In those days
everybody thought he could manage a discontented wife, were he
her husband ; but actually to do it was difficult.

" Why should she fret and fume for lack of children," he Tised
to say to his Treen neighbours, " and what need have you either,
in these peaceful times, to care whether we have descendants
or no ? "

Potent reasons were given both by giantess and people
why they desired that their chief's race should be continued.
Charms and other means were used in order to obtain the desired
result.

Yet much time passed, and their rock-hewn cradle was still
empty, when a happy thought struck a wise man of Treen. He
advised that a baby should be stolen from the giant of Ma en, who
had a large family, and was, moreover, a very troublesome and

AN INFANT GIANT. 133

aggressive neighbour — if one may credit stories of his hurling
the rocks against Treen giant, which are still to be seen at
Skewjack Moor, on the bounds of their two domains. One
may judge of Maen giant's stature by the size of his bed, bowls,
spoon, and other utensils, that remained in a lane on Treve, at
a short distance from Sennen Church, a few years ago, and some
of them may be there still.

Our giant and his wife were delighted with the sage man's
advice. To steal a baby from the big man who was proud of his
stronghold between Pen-von-las (Land's End) and Pedn-men-du
(Black Stone Headland) would be capital revenge on him and
his. "Then how nice it will be for me," said the giant's wife,
"to sit on the Logan stone with the cheeld in my arms, of
summer afternoons, when the waves sing lulla-by, and my old
man can rock us both till the dear baby falls asleep. Or he may
dandle it in his arms atop of Castle Peak, or jump with it thence,
from earn to earn, to Gramp-an-sees rocks and back again, whilst
I skin an ox for our supper, and you, my good people, can bring
us down plenty of milk to nurse him on, that he may grow
apace."

A wise woman, or witch of Treen, who could take any shape,
was selected as the most likely person to execute their project
without causing any stir with Maen giant, who was very fierce,
and proud of his descent from old blustering Bellerus, who was
said to have lived thereabouts in days of yore.

One afternoon away went the witch, and, without being noticed
on the road, reached Cairn-men-ellas, where she hid herself
between rocks to watch. A little before sunset she saw a giant's
child, of four years or so, coming that way with some common
people's children, who wanted to show him how to play bob.
Now the infant giant, though as big as an ordinary man, was
still a baby in every feature, and he hadn't been long weaned ;
he still wore a bib, though he had out-grown his clothes, and his
frock and saveall (pinafore) scarcely reached to his knees. The
common boys and girls, from ten to a dozen years of age — like
children in size to him — led about the great slab, as they termed
him, and did with him just as they pleased.

The woman, seeing them place buttons (and they hadn't many)
on the bob, took from her basket a string of large bright ones;
shook them before the giant baby, and said, "Now kiss me,
dear, and I will give 'e all these." He kissed her again and
again, delighted to have the buttons. Over awhile she said,
" The tides are low and I am on my way to get lempots (limpets)
and gweans (winkles) from Cowloe ; will 'e go, dears ? "

The elder ones said it was then too late — they must be all
home to Treve before sundown, or their mammies would strap

L

134 CASTLE TREEN AND ITS LEGENDS.

them soundly and send them to bed without supper. But
the babe-giant said, "I'll go, for I -want some gweans to play
five-stones, and lempots too, that my da may shoe the cats with
croggans (limpet-shells) and codgey-wax (cobblers' -wax). He
do dearly like that fun, and my ma do never beat me."

" Come along then, my turtle," said the witch, as she took his
hand and led him off.

On the way she took from her basket many toys and showed
him how to play with them. This pleased him, so that he thought
no more of Cowloe, and she led him away over the Green to Brew
Moors, where, to divert him she changed herself into the shape of
a horse, and he trotted on her a mile or more, when she resumed
her woman's form, and led him into Castle Treen, where he was
received with open arms by the mistress.

It would take long to tell how he was caressed by the childless
pair and fed by their people.

He often reposed, during his infancy, in a small chair that may
still be seen near the large one in which the giant usually rested
— the one just opposite the Logan Rock ; and, until he grew too
big, he frequently slept in the giant's arms.

At sunrise in summer the old giant delighted to carry him up
to Castle Peak, where he placed the infant to stand on the top-
most stone, which was much higher then than now, and named to
him all the noted places within ken. After turning him round that
he might behold the magnificent prospect on either hand of wild,
sea-lashed headlands in the distance, and noble earns towering
near, he would exclaim, " My dear boy, who wouldn't be proud
of such a home as this ? Believe me, dear son, in all this western
land — from the Lizard Point, that you see yonder, to Pedn-pen-
with, which lies under the setting sun — there is not another giant
who owns a place equal to Castle Treen ; and all shall be thine,
my darling, when I am dead and gone."

When the sun shone warm he took baby down to the Castle
Leas, near the Gap. This was his favourite fishing place, where a
deep pit may still be seen in which he pounded browse, that was
cast on the water to entice in fish. From these rocks, at the
water's edge, the giant, like a monstrous dolphin, stretched on the
sea with the boy standing on his broad back, and holding on by
the hair of his head like bridle-reins with both hands, would
swim out and round to the Sees — the rock that stands like an .
island in Gampar, (Close or Little Cove), just under Hal-
dynas, and at the eastern end of the outer mound of his fortress.
Having rested there awhile and given the cheeld a few shags'
eggs, limpets, mussels, and such like dainties, back they would
steer, but farther out; and, coasting all the seaboard of his
Castle, land in Par Pry.

AN ABANDONED GIANTESS. 135

When a few years older the giant taught his big boy to fish
from the rocks with rod and line, showed him how to make fish-
hooks out of bones and croggan-rims — as boys out there do now, or
did not long ago. In giants' times they hadn't a bit of iron, not
even so much as a nail. The giantess with her distaff and
spindle, spun them yarn that served for lines.

It wasn't much, however, that the giant knew to teach the
youngster. Like all of great bulk he had more strength than
knowledge, for as we say, " The best goods are bound up in the
smallest bundles."

Meanwhile the giantess took care that the boy had an unlimited
quantity of food, that he might eat and drink whenever he choose.
Over a few years he was nearly equal in bulk to his new Dadda,
as he called the old giant.

"We like to linger over these pleasant times, for the old Titan
when he took much delight in his charge. But alas ! the sequel
must be told in sorrow and tears for female frailty.

"We don't like to — and indeed we wont — repeat all the stories
handed down, which for the most part are highly unfavourable
to the moral character of Treen Giantess, for fear of slandering
her unwittingly. Yet it is no worse than she deserves to say that
all traditions agree in representing her as a most abandoned
female in her latter years.

All her care and attention were bestowed on the boy and she
neglected her old husband, so that he had to dive for fish, and
skin oxen, (or eat them skin, horns, and all). Sheep he could
seldom get ; they were dainties reserved for the young fellow.
The poor old giant was often driven to such extremities that, to
appease hunger, which makes brutes of the best of men, he was
fain to stay his stomach on ore-weed.

To add insult to injury she often taunted her aged spouse with
his weakness, which was the consequence of her neglect, and cut
him to the heart by making unfavourable comparisons between
him and the pampered youth who could now log the rock from
sitting on the grass ; and that was more, as the giantess told her
husband, than he could do in the best of his time.

Worst of all, her maternal love then changed into a passion
that, all things considered, one might even now, in these times
of lax morality and free-love, regard as reprehensible.

The poor old giant was slow to become jealous, till he found
himself utterly forsaken by his spouse and adopted son, who
always stole away to sunny glades between the earns to play by
themselves. That would have passed, however, without notice, —
he rather liked to be left alone, to dose in his chair of afternoons
— had not some Treen women, who were sharp in such things,
spied what was going on, and, out of envy, told the old giant.

136 CASTLE TREEN AND ITS LEGENDS.

He then became very surly and gave the doting pair much
annoyance by coming on them unawares when they withdrew to
enjoy their amorous diversion. They had seldom much comfort
then, except when the old fellow left his castle to get provision.

One winter's day, when he was about to start for this purpose,
he told his wife and the youngster that one of them, should meet
him on his way back to assist in taking home whatever he might
procure.

They promised to do so, but time passed so pleasantly with the
couple that they thought but little of their good old provider till
they heard his footsteps and angry voice, about a quarter of a
mile off, as he came stamping along Pedn-y-vounder cliff vowing
vengeance on his ungrateful wife and foster-son.

They became somewhat frightened, and the " stroll op " of a
giantess, knowing that "the first blow was half the battle,"
prepared for the encounter by placing herself on the rocks west
of the Gap, a dozen feet or so above the narrow path which the
giant would have to pass. He came stamping along, an ox on
his shoulders (its legs were tied together and passed over his
head,) and on each arm he carried a sheep basket-fashion, their
trotters bound with their spans.

He roared louder than the stormy breakers when he entered
his castle's inner enclosure and found that no one, even then,
came to meet him. In his fury he bounced along without noticing
his wicked rib, with her bared arm and clenched fist, awaiting
his approach, and as he came along the narrow ledge she dealt
him a blow in his eyes, as he glanced towards her, that sent him,
cattle and all, heels over head down the precipice.

When she beheld him falling a remembrance of their early
loves, or something else, caused a sudden revulsion of feeling,
which made her regret her rashness, and, unwilling to witness
her husband's dying agony, she stepped back westward, about
twenty paces, on to a level stone between high rocks, where she
stood still and cast her apron over her head that she might hear
less of the giant's awful moans. Though the giant's skull was very
thick it was badly smashed on the boulders ; yet he didn't die
until he called on the Powers whom he served to avenge him,
which they did instantly by changing his vile partner into stone,
where she stood and where she may still be seen. The old giant,
in his dying moments, thought of the young one more in sorrow
than in anger — he couldn't in his heart feel very bitter against
the simple-innocent hobble-de-hoy, and regarded his wife as the
seducer.

Nothing more is known of the young giant, and but little of
any others of the Titan race that in mythic ages dwelt in
Castle Treen.

DEN-AN-DYNAS AND HIS WIFE. 137

Of late the Giant's Lady, as she was formerly called, has been
named the Logan Rock's Lady by those who are ignorant of our
old traditions. When tempests rage, or anything else excites
her, she rocks to and fro ; but her movements are languid
with age or sorrow. Pitiless storms have so beaten on her head
for ages that one can't make out a feature, and her fair proportions
are so mutilated that one can scarce discern a semblance of her
gigantic form in the time-worn granite mass. She appears,
indeed, of pigmy stature compared with her husband. If,
however, she had never been larger than her stone image now
appears the story is none the less credible on that score. For do
we not, every day, see mere midges of women united with giants
of men, according to our reduced scale ?

DAN DYNAS.

Old folks held — and long tradition made it pass for true — thai
the outer wall of Castle Treen was built by a deaf-and-dumb
giant, called Dan Dynas, or, as some say, Den-an-Dynas, assisted
by his wife An' (aunt) Venna, who broke up the ditch, filled her
leathern towser (large apron) with the soil, and put it for filling
behind the rocks, as her husband rolled them into their places.
When they had thus constructed a stronghold, in which people
with their tin and cattle were safe from marauding pirates, the
giantess and other women collected hundreds of cartloads of
stones into heaps, near the mound, ready and handy for slinging
at, or to hurl down on, the heads of besiegers. When an incursion
happened to be made An' Venna, with the women and old men,
defended the fortress, whilst Dan and his fighting men slew the
enemy or drove them to sea. The ruins of this good couple's
handiwork may still be traced from Par Pry, on the southern side,
to the inlet of G-ampar, or Hal-dynas Cove, towards the east.

A descendant of old proprietors of Treen informed me that a
great quantity of stones remained, in piles, within and near the
embankment, until after wheel carriages came into use. Although
this part of the cliff was then common few persons cared to
remove them, and none durst take a stone from the castle walls
for fear Bad Luck would pursue any one who disturbed
the giant's work. But of late years, great portions of this
ancient rampart have been demolished and its facing-stones
carried away for building.

It is also related — though the story seems somewhat fabiilous —
that this deaf-and-dumb giant would stand on Carnole and thence
sink invading ships, entering Parcurno, by hurlingrocksonthem, or
he wrecked them, when at a distance, with huge stones discharged

138 CASTLE TBEEN AND ITS LEGENDS.

from slings made of bulls' hides. When the people couldn't
charge his instruments of war as quickly as he wanted them, he
would roar like thunder, make signs to stand clear, kick the rocks
up out of the ground, smash them to handy pieces, and fire away
again.

Like all other "West Country giants he was very fond of old-
fashioned games, and was delighted when youngsters came down
to Kaer Keis of an afternoon to play cook (quoits) or keals (nine-
pins) with him ; but he could never understand the weakness of
ordinary mortals' frames ; for, in caressing his playmates, he now
and then broke their ribs or cracked their sculls — to his great grief
and greater surprise. We may remark that, although some
Cornish giants have been misrepresented as little better than
savage cannibals — Cormovan of the Mount to wit — all traditional
giant stories, in this district, describe them as amiable protectors
of the common folks who lived near their castles. They were,
however, almost invariably, stupid and often did mischief un-
wittingly by having more strength than sense ; therefore, it is
shameful to defame those ancient heroes and ascribe to them such
vile traits as are not warranted by our popular stories.

THE SMALL PEOPLE (FAIEIES).

When our giants and other antique people left their human
bodies they continued to dwell in their old homes down almost to
our times. As they had no idea of any life but a carnal existence
on earth, they were permitted to live there as spriggans (elves)
and they seemed to have enjoyed themselves, in their small way,
by imitating mortals' pleasures.

Old folks, only just departed, often witnessed their gambols
amongst the earns of Castle Treen.

Fishermen, when becalmed near Pedn-y-vounder cliff, of
summer's nights, frequently saw thousands of gaily-dressed little
people, with lights, moving about in what looked like beautiful
gardens that extended, in some places, down almost to high- water
mark. At the same time low but lively music, and the scents of
sweet flowers, would be wafted over the water. The fishers,
however, hastily made off whenever such fairy melodies and
odours reached their boats. These haunts are screened from
view, landward, by towering crags. Steep precipices render
them inaccessable on the sea-side ; though they may be seen from
the water, during summer months, gay with cliff-pinks and other
flowers "in places that not even a goat could reach.

Treasure-seekers, when digging in nooks and corners among the
Castle earns, have been scared away even by day with ill-favoured

ST. LEVAN WITCHES' STARTING-PLACES. 139

looking fays of nearly human size; and the same uncouthly-
formed elves have often been seen wrestling, hurling, and playing
other games on a level place near Hal-dynas ; but there is no
special story relating to them that we ever heard.

ST. LEVAN "WITCHES.

In days of yore ugly old hags that sold themselves to Satan
merely to have their " spite out " on their neighbours, or to ride
on a broomstick and play pranks but little known except among
themselves, made the Castle crags their resort. When all the
neighbouring witches were assembled they scampered up to the
platform on the top of Castle Peak, mounted (their ragworts or
brooms, and took flight over to Wales to milk' Taffy's cows and
steal his leeks. Those who lived in Eoskestal, and other places
over that way, took their departure from Pedn-pen-with. On
their return each one alighted, with all her plunder, in some
convenient place near her dwelling. 'Tis said that, in old times,
the people of this neighbourhood were much addicted to sorcery,
and, from their skill in the black art, they acquired and still
retain the name of St. Levan Witches.

TRADITIONS OF PARCURNO.

A ghostly ship, with a ghostly crew,

In tempests she appears ;
And before the gale, or against the gale,
She sails without a rag of sail ;

Without a helmsman steers.

LONGFELLOW.

3T long since a general belief prevailed in the west-
ern parishes that in ancient times Parcurno was
the principal port of Cornwall, and that, until the
Cove became "sanded up" there was sufficient
depth of water to float the largest ships then made,
in to the foot of an old caunce (paved road) which may still be
seen.

One old story ascribes the choking of Parcurno and Parchapel
to the mischievous spirit Tregeagle, who was sent to Grwenvor Cove
and there required to remain until he made a truss of sand — to
be bound with ropes spun of the same — and carried it to a rock
above high- water mark. For many years he toiled in vain at his
task, and his howling would be heard for many miles away when
winds or waves scattered the sand he had piled up during low
water.

One very frosty night, however, by pouring water from Velan-
Dreath brook over his truss he succeeded in making it hold
together and bore it to a rock above the flow of spring tides.

Then, as some say, that very night, as he took his way over or
along the coast towards Helston, to revisit and torment those who
raised him from the grave, by way of showing his exultation at
having completed his task, or for mere deviltry perhaps, he swept
all the sand out of Nanjisel and around Pedn-pen-with into
Parcurno and adjacent coves, without letting any enter Par-
gwartha.

Another tradition says that sweeping the sand from Nanjisel
to the east of Tol-pedn was assigned to Tregeagle as a separate
task.

After this exploit the troublesome spirit was again sent to
Gwenvor to make a truss of sand. There he remains toiling to

SPECTRE SHIPS. 141

this day — unable to perform what is required in order to regain
his liberty, because he was bound not to use Velan-Dreath water
or any other.

There is also a very old belief that spectre ships frequently
visited Parcurno, both before and since its navigable channel
became filled with sand, and that they were often seen sailing up
and down the valley, over dry land the same as on the sea.

These naval apparitions were, in olden times, regarded as
"tokens" that enemies were about to make a descent; the
number of phantom vessels foreboded the sea-robbers' approach-
ing force.

This presage of yore was held for truth by many old folks but
lately deceased ; yet latterly it has somehow changed its character
and become connected with the history of a person who, little
more than a hundred years ago, lived in a lone house called
Chygwidden, about a mile inland from Parcurno. This com-
paratively modern story also accounts for the sand shifting, and
has appropriated old traditions that had no connection therewith.

It relates that, long ago, Chygwidden was the chief dwelling-
place of a family who flourished in St. Levan for a few generations
and then all its branches became so reduced, through riotous
living, as to be obliged to mortgage and sell much of their
freehold lands.

The eldest and only son, by a former wife, of old Martin T ,

who lived there, took to a seafaring life when about twenty, on
account of cruel treatment received from his drunken father and
a step-dame several years younger than himself. On leaving he
vowed that he would never return whilst one lived who then
darkened his father's doors.

Many years passed, and as no tidings had been received of
young Martin, as he was still called, most persons believed him
dead. In the meantime, his father, the step-dame, and her
children, having all died within a few years of each other, a
distant relative, as heir-at-law, had taken possession of what
little property remained, and lived in Chygwidden.

Some ten years after the decease of all who had lived under
old Martin's roof when his eldest son was driven thence, a large
ship hove-to within a mile of Parcurno on a fine afternoon in
harvest time.

People working in fields near the cliff noticed the unusual
circumstance and saw a boat leave the ship with two men, who
landed in Parcurno with several chests and other goods, and the
ship proceeded on her course.

It was evident that one of those who came on shore was well
acquainted with the place, as he struck at once into a pathway
over the cliff which led, by a short cut, to Eospeltha, where he

142 TRADITIONS OF PARCURNO.

made himself known as young Martin T and procured horses

and other help to take several heavy chests and bales to
Chygwidden.

There was great rejoicing when it was known that the
wanderer had at length returned to claim his owa. His kinsfolks
— a young man and his sister Eleanor, a damsel in her teens —
were ready to resign possession, but Martin then cared little for
house or land, and told them to keep the place and welcome, for all
he desired was to have a home there for himself and his comrade
whilst they remained, which he thought would only be for a short
spell. His tastes had changed with change of scene. The place
that he had once deemed the fairest on earth — but then he had
seen no more of it than was visible from the nearest high hill — now
appeared dreary ; and the people whom — those of his own family
excepted — he once thought the best in the world now seemed a
forlorn set of consequential, grimly-religious nobodies to him,
and above all to his mate, who, by-the-bye, requires more
particular notice than we have yet bestowed on him.

Martin found the people, also, much altered from what they
were in his youthful days, for about the time of his return a new
sect had sprung up whose members, professing uncommon
godliness, decried our ancient games and merry-makings, which
were wont on holidays to unite all ages and classes. Their
condemnation caused them to fall into disuse ; and, on account of
the censorious and intolerant spirit which then prevailed, there
was much less heartiness and cordial intercourse amongst neigh-
bours than formerly.

In a short time, however, Martin, now called by most persons
"The Captain," became reconciled— one can't say attached — to
his native place and the " humdrum West Country folks," as he
styled them, who marvelled at his riches and the change which
had taken place in his outward mien and manner. Yet the homely
people's surprise at the alteration in Martin was nothing to their
wonder, allied to fear, excited by his dusky companion or slave,
for no one knew in what relation they stood to each other.

This stranger was seen to be a robust man, about thirty years of
age apparently, with a swarthy complexion, many shades darker
than the Captain* s Spanish-mahogany tinted skin. Martin called
this man Jose or mate, and he rarely spoke a word of English
(though he could when he pleased) or addressed anyone but
Martin, with whom he always conversed in some outlandish lingo
which seemed more natural to the Captain than his mother tongue.
A tantalizing mystery shrouded the dark "outlander;" for his
master or friend would never answer any queries respecting him.
He was almost equally silent with regard to buccaneering or other
adventures, and rarely spoke of anything that occurred either

A EETIEED CAPTAIN AND HIS MATE. 143

at home or abroad during his absence. The two strange beings
often came to high words and even to blows, but they would
never allow anyone to meddle in their quarrels. When Martin
was drunk and off his guard he would now and then ease his
mind by swearing at his mate in plain English, or grumble at
him in the same, to the effect that he had risked his life and
spent a fortune to save him from being hanged at the yard-arm.
"Discontented devil of a blackamoor," he would say, "why
canst thou not be satisfied to live here ? Thou art bound to me
body and soul ; and do I not indulge thee with everything gold
can purchase? "

Jose would sometimes murmur "Avast there ; all our gold and
diamonds can't procure us here the bright sunshine and joyous
people, nor the rich fruits and wine, of my native clime."

He seldom, however, made other reply than by gloomy looks
or fiery glances which soon recalled Martin to his senses. It was
remarked that after these outbursts of passion he was for a long
while like the humble slave of his mate.

The boat in which they landed was kept at Parcurno, except
for short spells during stormy times of the year, when she was
put into Penberth or Pargwartha for greater safety ; and, weeks
together, they would remain out at sea night and day till their
provisions were used ; then they would come in, their craft laden
with fish, and this cargo was free to all-comers. Stormy weather
seldom drove them to land ; they seemed to delight in a tempest.

Before winter came they procured a good number of hounds,
and great part of the hunting season was passed by them in
coursing over all parts of the West Country. Often of winter's
nights, people far away would be frightened by hearing or
seeing these two wild-looking hunters and their dogs chasing
over some lone moor, and they gave rise to many a story of Old
Nick and his headless hounds.

When tired of the chase, weeks were often passed at a public-
house in Buryan Church-town. Martin treated one and all and
scattered gold around him like chaff. The tawny mate, however,
at times restrained Martin's lavish expenditure, took charge of
his money-chests, and refused him the keys.

Jose would occasionally condescend to express his wishes to
Eleanor, who was mistress of the rare establishment. She
understood and humoured the pair, who took pleasure in decking
her in the richest stuffs and jewels that their chests contained or
that money could procure, and she frequently stayed up alone
best part of the night to await their return.

After being at home a year or so the Captain had a large half-
decked boat built, and several rocks removed in Parcurno to
make a safer place in which to moor her. They then took longer

144 TRADITIOXS OF PARCTJRNO.

trips, and were not seen in Chygwidden for months running.
The two eccentric beings passed many years in this way, and
held but little intercourse with their neighbours.

At length Martin perceived tokens of death, or what he took for
such, and made his man swear that when he saw signs of near
dissolution he would take him off to sea, let him die there, and
send him to rest at the ocean's bottom. He also bound his kins-
man by oath not to oppose his wishes, and invoked a curse on any
one who would lay his dust beside the remains of those who had
driven him to range the wide world like a vagabond.

They might have complied with his strange desires, but ere
they could be carried out he died in a hammock, suspended in
his bed-room.

Now there comes a mystery, that is not likely to be cleared up.

It was known that a coffin, — followed by the cousins, Jose,
and the dogs, was taken to St. Levan Churchyard and buried
near the ground in which Martin's family lie. But it was
rumoured that the coffin merely contained earth to make weight.

The following night, however, the dark " outlander " had two
chests conveyed to Parcurno, the largest of which was said to
contain the remains of his friend, and the other money and
valuables which belonged to himself. The chests placed on board
the half-decked vessel, Jose and his favourite dog embarked,
waited for the tide to rise, and put to sea ; but no one remained
at the cove to behold their departure, and no more was seen in
the West of man, dog, or boat.

Eleanor disappeared on the funeral night and it was believed
that she left with the stranger, who was scarcely a league to sea
ere a tempest arose and continued with great fury for nearly a
week ; and, although it was in winter, the sky of nights was all
ablaze with lightning and the days as dark as nights. During
this storm Parcurno was choked with sand, and no boat could be
kept there since.

The tempest had scarcely lulled when an apparition of Martin's
craft would drive into Parcurno against wind and tide ; oft-times
she came in the dusk of evening, and, without stopping at the
Cove, took her course up over the old caunce towards Chnpel-
Curno ; thence she sailed away, her keel just skimming the
ground, or many yards above it, as she passed over hill and dale
till she arrived at Chygwidclen.

The barque was generally shrouded in mist, and one could rarely
get a glimpse of her deck on which the shadow}' figures of two
men, a woman, and a dog, were beheld now and then. This ship
of the dead, with her ghostly crew, hovered over the town-place a
moment, then bore away to a croft on the farm, and vanished
near a rock where a large sum of foreign coins was disinterred

ST. LEVAN, THE FISHERMAN. 145

many years ago, so it is said. Of late the ghostly ship has not
been known to have entered Parcurno, and on account of
innovations recently effected there she may nevermore be seen
in that ancient port.

It may be observed that traditions of phantom-ships sailing
overland were common to many places near the Land's End with
which no stories are connected ; these appearances were merely
supposed to forebode tempests and wrecks.

The few incidents which form the groundwork of the above
legend occurred but little more than a century before it was
related to me by an aged farm labourer of St. Levan ; yet in that
short space it has assumed such a mystic garb that the simple
and true story can scarcely be perceived under its embellishments.

LEGENDS OF ST. LEVAN.

They had their lodges in the wilderness,
Or built them cells beside the shadowy sea,
And there they dwelt with angels, like a dream !

Rev. R, S. HAWKER.

ST. LEVAN AND HIS SISTEK.

N old habitation, in which, according to tradition, St.
Levan dwelt, is still standing. This humble dwel-
ling, situated in Bodellan, is on the eastern side of
Parcurno Bottom, near its upper part within a

. _™ hundred yards of the road, towards which stands

the end that contains its sole fire-place. The hearthstone may
still be there, much as it was when St. Levan's sister, the good
midwife, St. Breage. cooked on it the fatal chads which choked
her children.

The story says that good old St. Levan was one evening down
fishing from his accustomed place in Rospeltha cliff — still called
Old St. Levan's Eocks. He cast in his hook-and-line, intending
to take one fish only for his supper, from the multitude that
always came around the rock on which he stood as soon as ho
east 'in "browse" (garbage to attract fish). Contrary to St.
Levan's wish, two chads, or young breams, fastened on his hook
at the same time, and not to show favour to either he threw both
of them into the sea again. And no sooner was his hook-and-
liiie in the waves a second time than the same chads, or two

M

146 LEGENDS OF ST. LEVAN.

others, hooked themselves together again, and were again restored
to the sea. For the third time he cast in his line ; and, seeing
two fishes on his hook again, he regarded this occurrence as a
providential intimation that he was to take them both home, and
acted accordingly. When he came to Bodellan he found that his
sister, St. Breage, had just arrived with two children. The chads
were boiled for supper, and St. Breage' s hungry children, being
careless of bones, got choked, and remembrance of this event is
handed down in St. Le van's parish by chads being there called
" chuck-cheeld " to this day.

Some thirty -five years ago the writer often noticed, on a bench-
end in St. Levan church, near the belfry door, a panel, or shield,
on which two fishes, with their heads touching each other, were
carved in bold relief. The fishes were much like chads, or young
breams, in outline, and the foregoing legend might have suggested
this design, or the device have originated the story. It is to be
feared that this bench-end, and much more tastefully-designed
and boldly-wrought carving, disappeared before the Eev. C. C.
Anstey came to preserve and restore the interesting remains
of this once beautiful church. Loads of as fine carved work,
and no more decayed than what remains, were, from thirty or
forty years since, carried off by the carpenters, who were, every
now and then, employed to demolish the curious old oak benches,
and to replace them with painted deal boxes, in many variations
of ugliness.

It is said that the path which St. Levan took across Rospeltha
fields to his accustomed fishing-place, may still be traced by the
ground his holy footsteps trod bearing finer grain when in corn,
and by the grass being greener when in pasture than in other
parts of the fields.

JOHANNA'S G-ABDEN.

St. Levan road passed by a small enclosure in Rospeltha,
called Johanna's Garden, (at least it retained that name a few
years ago when the writer knew it well).

One Sunday morning the holy hermit, going down to cliff to
get a fish for his dinner, in passing by this garden saw a woman
called Johanna gathering pot-herbs. St. Levan rested the end of
his rocking-rod on the ground, stopped, and gave her a kindly
greeting. But she, looking over the hedge, exclaimed, "Oh
sinful man that you are, for going a fishing of a Sunday !
Whatever can 'e think will become of 'e ? "

" Self-righteous hypocrite that thou art," answered the saint,
"in looking for other people's faults thou canst not behold

FOOLISH JOHANNA. 147

thine own. Think not that thou — with thy fingers spread out
and thy eyes turned up — art better than others, for a more strict
or a more lazy observance of Sunday. And tell me," he continued,
" sharp as thou art to mark others' faults, and blind as thou art
to thine own, wherefore should it be a sin for me to take my
daily fish from the sea any more than for thee to gather herbs
from thy garden ? "

St. Levan said much more, but all in vain were his endeavours
to bring the woman to reason, for, in spite of all he could say,
she would still have the last word and contend that there was
more sin in catching fish than in picking greens of a Sunday.

At last the good man being provoked by her obstinacy, pre-
tended piety, and conceited clack, raised his hand and cursed her,
saying, " From this time, for ever, thou shalt be known, if known
at all, as the Foolish Johanna! And thy garden shall ever
continue, as now, to bear more hemlock and nettles than leeks
and lentils. Moreover," he continued, ""mark this — To make
thy remembrance the more accursed for all time to come, if any
child by thy name be baptised in the waters of Parchapel Well it
shall become a fool like thyself and bad luck follow it."

Down to very recent times, so great was the fear of old St.
Levan' s curse that anyone in this parish desirous of having a child
named Johanna took it to Sennen to be christened.

It may be remarked that, until the roof fell into'St. Levan's
Well, and it became choked up, the sexton always kept it clean and
fetched water thence for the baptismal office.

We don't know what state "Johanna's Garden" is now in,
but some thirty years ago it always bore more weeds than
pot-herbs.

These simple traditions — thus handed down and kept alive by
St. Levan people, who believed them to be literally true — mark
a lingering veneration for the holy fisherman who, in this
secluded place, led his tranquil life.

THE ST. LEVAN STONE.

In St. Levan Churchyard is a cloven rock called St. Levan's
stone. For some reason, now unknown, this must have been a
venerated object when the church was built, or it would have
been used in the building. The common notion, however, is that
long before St. Levan's time this rock was regarded as sacred,
because Merlin prophecied —

" When, with panniers astride,
A pack-horse one can ride
Through St. Levan stone,
The world will be done."

148 LEGENDS OF ST. LEVAN.

It is stated that Merlin came here with King Arthur, -when he
slaughtered the Danes at the battle of Velan-druchar. The
separation of this prophetic stone is so slow that there appears
to be no danger of the world's ending just yet.

PARCHAPEL WELL.

To find the Saint's "Well one should take a pathway bearing
westward, from a little below the church, and which leads over
Roskestal cliff to Pargwarra (we spell all names as the
inhabitants pronounce them). After crossing the brook and
mounting a hedge keep straight towards the sea, and on a pretty
level spot the ruined walls of St. Levan's baptistry will be found,
as also some traces of rude steps on a pathway that connected
this holy fount with an ancient chapel and burying-ground which
stood on ground so near the precipice that little, if any, of its
site now remains. We have heard old folks of St. Levan
(who were born there more than a century ago) say that in their
younger days Parchapel Well, as they always called it, was,
twice a year, regularly cleaned out and repaired, and the ground,
for a good space around, as well as the steps, cleared of weeds,
swept, and sanded. The first week of May being a time of
general well-dressing, Parchapel Well was never neglected then,
and it was also cleaned up against the feasten tide, when many
christenings usually took place.

Old folks also spoke of another time-honoured observance in
which the Saint's Well was shown due respect. Until within
half a century or so, it was a custom on Christmas-eve for
carol singers belonging to the higher side hamlets to assemble in
Sowah town-place round a large flat table-like rock called the
Garrack Zans (holy rock). Here they would commence singing,
and proceed to Roskestal, where at another Garrack Zans in that
town-place they would be joined by others, and all would thence
go singing down to Parchapel Well, where they would meet
with many singers from Treen and other lower-side places. At
the Well many an old carol would be chanted. One was never
forgotten, in which, according to our West Country version, Holy
Mary says to her dear child : —

" Go thce wayst out, child Jesus ;
Go thee wayst out to play
Down by God's holy well.
I see three pretty chelderen
As ever tongue can tell."

This, for its sweet simplicity, is still a favourite in the west.

ANCIENT MARINERS' STORIES. 149

The rude steps, which may yet be traced (though almost over-
grown by rushes and other water-plants) will be regarded with
interest, as we learn from St. Levan traditions that great sinners
did penance by crawling over these rough stones on their bare
knees, and that the devout who desired or aspired to acquire
extraordinary grace, or indulgence, scrambled up all the way on
bare knees from chapel-door to holy fount.

A LEGEND OF PARGWARRA.

My William's love was heaven on earth,
Without it earth is hell.

SCOTT.

KOCEEDING- westward from St. Levan's Well we
pass the next inlet, called Parleddan (Wide Cove),
and arrive at Pargwarra or Pargwartha (Higher
Cove), which is one of the most secluded and
picturesque nooks that may anywhere be found.
Old folks also called this place the Sweethearts' Cove, from a
tradition of its having been the scene of a tragical love-story,
which is best known to me from fragments of a quaint old 'copy
of verses,' entitled —

THE TRAGEDY OF SWEET WILLIAM AND FAIR NANCY.

This composition of a forgotten western bard related that, far
back in old times, the son of a fisherman, who dwelt at Pargwarra,
lived many years— off and on from a boy — in service with a rich
farmer in Eoskestal, and courted his master's only daughter, who,
almost, from her childhood, loved the young serving-man with a
strength of affection beyond her control.

The youngster, being of a roving turn, often went to sea for
many months in summer, and although he was then most wanted
on the farm, his master always took him back again when sailors
were paid off and merchant ships laid up during the stormy winter
season. It was his old master's and Nancy's great delight of
winter's nights, to be seated with neighbours around the fire and
hear Willy tell of strange things he had beheld on the ocean and
in foreign lands ; they wondered at what he related of water-
spouts, icebergs, and northern lights, of whales, seals, and
Laplanders. And they listened with awe and surprise to what
he told them of burning-mountains, where he said he had seen,
from a distance, the very mouths of hell vomiting clouds of
sulphurous smoke, flames, and rivers of fire. And when sailing

150 A LEGEND OF PARQWARRA.

as near these dreadful regions as anyone dared venture for the
heat, and for fear of having their vessel drawn ashore, where all
the nails would be pulled from her planks by the load-stone rocks
that bordered these lands ; of nights, he had heard high over-
head, devils shouting, "the time is come but such and such a one
isn't come ; " soon after, one would hear doleful cries and behold
black clouds of doomed spirits driven to the burning-mountains
by troops of demons. He had seen the wreck of Pharaoh's
chariots on the beach of the Red iSea, which, he assured them,
had retained the hue from which it took its name ever since the
Egyptian hosts were slain and overwhelmed, where their bones
are still bleaching on the sands.

But all that was easily believed by his simple hearers, and
mere nothing to the marvels he related from shipmates' stories
when he told them of those bold mariners who had been farther
east and seen the Dead Sea across which no bird could fly — how
they had plucked from trees that bordered its black waters apples
full of ashes that were tempting to the eye ; they had touched
Lot's wife turned to salt, and brought home some of her fingers ;
that was often done, he said, for with the next tide's flow they
sprouted out again.

The neighbours liked above all to hear him tell about the dusky
men and strange women of Levantine lands, and how the
latter would shoot loving glances at British tars through peep-
holes cut in their thick black cloth veils.

Now William himself was a wonder of perfection, past com-
pare in Nancy's eyes. She admired him for his stalwart form, for
his strange adventures on sea and land, and for the rare presents
he brought her home. The farmer, too, liked him just as if he
had been his own son, yet it never entered his head that his
daughter and only child would ever think of the dashing and
careless young seaman as her lover.

Yet her mother, more sharp sighted, soon discovered that her
fair Nancy was much in love with their serving-man. When
William was gone to sea the dame upbraided her with want of
proper pride and self-respect till she had fretted her almost to
death's door. " What a fool thou must be," paid she, " to throw
thyself away, or to hanker after one so much beneath thy degree,
when thy good looks and dower make thee a match for the
richest farmer's son in the West Country ; think if you wed a
poor sailor how you will be scorned by all your kith and kin."
Nancy replied, "but little care I for relations' reproach or good
will, and sink or swim if ever I marry it shall be the man I love
who is able to work and win." The dame prevailed on her
husband, much against his will, however, not to take the sailor
to live there when he returned home again ; and she — watching

NANCY WATCHING FOE HER LOVER5 S RETURN. 151

her opportunity — slammed the door in his face and told him he
should nevermore harbour beneath her roof.

But the father fearing his only child would pine to death, told
her and her lover that if he would try his fortune by a voyage to
the Indies or elsewhere for three years, when he returned, poor
or rich, if he and Nancy were in the same mind, they might be
wedded for all he cared.

That being agreed on, William got a berth in a merchant-man
bound for- a long voyage, took friendly leave of his old master,
and the night before his ship was ready to sail he and Nancy
met, and he assured the sorrowing damsel that in three years or
less she might expect him to land in Pargwarra with plenty of
riches, and he would marry at home or fetch her away and make
her his bride. According to the old verses he said —

" Down in a valley, love, where three streams unite,
I'll build thee a castle of ivory and diamonds so bright,
That shall be a guide for poor sailors of a dark stormy night."

They vowed again and again to be constant and true ; with
their hands joined in a living spring or stream they broke a gold
ring in two between them, each one keeping a part. And to make
their vows more binding they kindled, at dead of night, a fire on the
Garrack Zans (holy rock), which then stood in Roskestal town-
place, and joining their hands over the flame, called on all the
powers of heaven and earth to witness their solemn oaths, to have
each other living or dead. Having plighted their troth with
these and other ancient rites — that romantic lovers of old regarded
as more sacred than a marriage ceremony — they said farewell, and
William went on his way and joined his ship.

Three years passed during \vhich the old dame had done her
utmost to persuade her daughter to become the wife of some rich
farmer — for true it was, as she said, Nancy might have had her
choice of the best — yet coaxing and reproaches were powerless
to shake the maid's constancy. When three years and many
months were gone without any tidings of AVilliam, she became
very melancholy — perhaps crazy — from hope deferred, and took
to wandering about the cleves in all weathers, by day and by
night.

On the headland, called Hella Point, which stretches far out
west of the cove, there is a high over-hanging rock almost on the
verge of the cliff, which shelters, on its southern side, a patch of
green sward, mostly composed of cliff-pinks ; this spot used to be
known as Fair Nancy's bed. There she would pass hours by day
and often whole nights watching vessels that came within her ken,
hoping to see her lover land from every one that hove in sight,
and to be the first to hail him with joyful greetings in the cove.
Her father and the old fisherman — anxious for William's return

152 A LEGEND OF PARGWARRA.

— treated her as tenderly as a shorn lamb, and often passed long
nights with her there; at length the poor maiden had to be
watched and followed for fear that in her night wanderings she
might fall over the cliff or drown herself in a fit of despair.

One moonlight winter's night, when in her chamber indulging
her grief, she heard William's voice just, under her window,
saying, "Sleepest thou, sweetheart, awaken and come hithe'r,
love ; my boat awaits us at the cove, thou must come this night
or never be my bride."

"My sweet William come at last, I'll be with thee in an
instant," she replied.

Nancy's aunt Prudence, who lodged in the same room, heard
Willy's request and his sweetheart's answer ; looking out of the
window she saw the sailor, just under, dripping wet and deathly
pale. An instant after — glancing round into the chamber, and
seeing Nancy leave it — she dressed, in all haste, and followed
her. Aunt Prudence, running down the cliff lane at her utmost
speed, kept the lovers in sight some time, but couldn't overtake
them, for they seemed to glide down the rocky pathway leading
to Pargwarra as if borne on the wind, till they disappeared
in the glen.

At the fisherman's door, however, she again caught a glimpse
of them passing over the rocks towards a boat which floated off
in the cove. She then ran out upon the How — as the high ground
projecting into the cove is called — just in time to see them on a
large flat rock beside the boat, when a fog rolling in over sea,
shrouded them from her view. She hailed them but heard no
reply.

In a few minutes the mist cleared away, bright moonlight
again shone on the water, but the boat and lovers had dis-
appeared.

Then she heard mermaids singing a low sweet melody, and saw
many of them sporting on the water under Hella ; that was
nothing new, however, for the rocks and sawns (caverns)
bordering this headland were always noted as favourite resorts
of these death-boding syrens, whose wild unearthly strains were
wont, before tempests, to be heard resounding along Pedn-Pen-
with shores.

By daybreak the old fisherman came to Eoskestal and told the
farmer that he hoped to find his son there, for, about midnight,
he saw him at his bedside, looking ghastly pale ; he stayed but
a moment, and merely said, " Farewell father and mother, I am
come for my bride and must hasten away," when he vanished
like a spirit. It all seemed to the old man uncertain as a dream ;
he didn't know if it were his own son in the body or a token of
his death.

THE SWEETHEAETS* COVE. 153

In the afternoon, ere they had ceased wondering and making
search for Nancy, a young mariner came to the fisherman's
dwelling, and told him that he was chief officer of his son's ship,
then at the Mount with a rich cargo from the Indies, bound for
another port ; but put in there because his son — her captain —
when off Pargwarra, where he intended to land last night, eager
to see his native place, went aloft, and the ship rolling he missed
his holdfast of the shrouds, fell overboard and sunk before she
could be brought-to or any assistance rendered.

All knew then that "William's ghost had taken Nancy to a
phantom boat, and a watery grave was the lovers' bridal-bed.
Thus their rash vows of constancy, even in death, were fulfilled,
and their sad story, for a time, caused Pargwartha to be known
as the Sweethearts' Cove, and some will have it that the old
Cornish name has that meaning.

There are other versions of this story, that only vary from the
above in details of little interest.

I have recently tried in vain to find anyone who knows the
old ' copy of verses,' the argument of which I have for the most
part followed.

The fragments I recited, however, recalled to a few old folks a
newer piece called the " Strains of Lovely Nancy," that used to
be printed in a broad sheet and sung and sold by wandering
ballad singers of the west, forty or fifty years ago ; and from
what I heard of the latter one might conclude it to have been a
modernised and an imperfect version of the ancient tragedy.

Traditions connected with places in the southern parishes of
West Penwith having brought us within a short distance of the
Land's End, we now return to St. Just and purpose to relate such
as are found in that parish and Sennen.

And singular enough, almost all old stories handed down in
St. Just are fairy-tales.

AN' PEE TREGEER'S TRIP TO MARKET ON H ALLAN EVE.

Faery elves,

Whose midnight revels by a forest side
Or fountain some belated peasant sees.

MILTON.

NE St. Just Feasten Monday, about thirty years
since, we heard the following story told by the
kitchen fireside in the "North Inn." An aged
mine-captain related the principal part, others of
the company helping him out when his memory
or invention failed.

"I have heard the old folks tell," said Captain Peter, " how
long ago — it may be hundreds of years past, for what we know
— the Squire, who then lived in Pendeen, had for his house-
keeper an elderly dame called Pee Tregeer, who came to a sad
mishap one HaUan Eve. Some spices and other small things
were wanted from Penzance for the Feasten tide, and the careful
old creature wouldn't trust anyone to go for them but herself.
Now, An' Pee dearly loved company on the road, and, not
knowing of anybody more likely to take the jaunt with her than
Jenny Trayer, who lived at Pendeen Cove, she took her basket
and stick and went down to see if Jenny would go.

" This woman was the wife of one Tom Trayer. The hut in
which they lived was the only dwelling then in the cove. The
pair were but little seen out of the place. Tom passed great
part of his time a fishing, when he wasn't smuggling ; and his
wife seldom left home except when she took round liquor and
fish together, in her cowal, for sale. Jenny, however, was
frequently visited, for she professed to be, and passed for, a
White Witch, charmer, or wise-woman. On this account many
resorted to her that they might be benefitted by her charms and
spells. Yet, there were others that regarded her as a witch of
deeper dye, and who believed that, by her strange dealings with
the Old One, her husband had always a favourable wind, so as
to make a quicker passage to France and back than anyone else
in "the fair trade." Besides, fish, they said, always came to his
hook and net when other fishermen had none. If anyone
happened to offend either of the pair some strange run of bad
luck was sure to follow; and nothing proved their compact

"WITCH OINTMENT. 155

with Old Nick so much as the rich wrecks which were constantly
floating into Pendeen Cove when the pair lived there. Yet, as
they lived on the Squire's estate, few cared to openly accuse them
of practising the black art ; and An' Pee didn't trouble herself
about their sorcery or witchcraft, so that they furnished her with
a good supply of choice liquors.

"When she arrived at Tom's door, contrary to custom she
found it shut, and, hearing voices within, her curiosity made her
peep through the finger-hole (latch-hole). Then she saw Tom
sitting on the chimney-stool, and his wife taking on the tip of
her finger from a croggan (limpet-shell) what appeared to be
salve, which she rubbed over her husband's eyes.

"The anointing finished, Jenny placed the croggan in the
mouth of the oven and covered it up with rags. An' Pee, seeing
Tom put on his hat, and come towards the door, lifted the latch
and entered. Tom didn't seem pleased at the old dame's abrupt
entrance, as he went out with a very black look, but his wife
made much of her, that she might speak a good word for them
to the Squire whenever they wanted any favour, which she was
ready enow to do for the sake of good liquor.

" ' I am very glad to see 'e, An' Pee,' said Jenny, 'I have this
moment been thinking about 'e and wishing you would come
down to taste the choice cordials Tom and the boys brought home
by their last trip.'

"Whilst Jenny was in the spence after the liquor, An' Pee
took from the croggan the least bit of a greenish salve and
touched one eye with it. Before she had time to anoint the
other, out came Jenny with her hands full of jars and bottles.
'Now, what will 'e take, An' Pee?' said she, in placing the
liquor and drinking-horns on the board, 'Will 'e first of all
help yourself to some brandy from this jar, or some rum out of
that, before you try the Hollands in the case-bottle, and take
some of the sweet cordials afterwards ? We have wine, too, in
the spence if you would like that better to begin with.'

" An' Pee took a drink of all the various kinds of liquors, just
to sample them. Jenny excused herself from going to town,
because, being Feasten eve, she had many churs (odd jobs) to do
that the place might be tidy against the morrow. Besides, she
expected many customers that evening, for a supply of drink to
pass the tide. She didn't choose to leave the selling of the liquor
to Tom, she said ; he was too easily taken in.

" It was about three o'clock when, An' Pee having filled with
brandy a bottle, which she always carried in her pocket, left the
cove and started for Penzance. Coming out of the dark dwelling
she was surprised to find how well she could see, and the good
liquor put such life into her heels that she tripped along the lanes

156 AN' PEE TREGEER'S TRIP TO MARKET.

without feeling the ground under her feet. Yet, it was almost
candle-lighting when she got to town. After purchasing what
she wanted for the house she went down among the standings on
a three-cornered plot, where the market-house is now, to
buy a pair of shoes for herself. Whilst she was trying their size
with a piece of stick the length of her foot, to her great surprise
she saw Tom Trayer going from standing to standing as brisk
as a bee, picking off everything that suited his fancy. Yet,
nobody but herself appeared to see him taking rolls of leather,
knives, forks, pewter-plates, wooden spoons, thread and yarn, and
many other things, which he stuffed into his pockets and the
knapsack he carried on his back. An' Pee, vexed to see his tricks
on the tradespeople, went up to him and said, ' Tom ! aru't thee
ashamed to be here in the dark carrying on such a game ? ' 'Ah,
es that you Aunt Pee,' Tom replied, ' now tell me which eye can
'e see me upon ? ' ' Why with both, I should think,' said she.
But when she winked the eye that had been anointed, and found
she only saw him on that, she said, ' I can see thee, and thy
thievery, plain enow on my right eye, but the other es rather
cloudy by night.' When she said this, Tom held up his finger
and, pointing towards her anointed eye, said, —

" ' Cnrsed old spy,

Thou shalt no more peep nor pry,

"With thy anointed eye.'

"Then he blew on it and, laughing in her face, said, 'Take
that for poking your nose where you arn't wanted, and meddling
with other people's business. You shall neither see me, nor
anyone else, any more with that game eye.' The old woman felt
as if a needle had pierced it. She fell to the ground, and rolled
about under the standings. Such was her agony she couldn't
keep on her legs.

"She called on the market people to seize Tom Trayer, telling
them he had put out her eye by witchcraft, and that he was
going about in the dark, stealing goods from their standings and
stalls. But no one, except herself, had seen him. Some said that
An' Pee was drunk or dreaming, and they led her to Alvertoii-
lane, tied her basket on her arm, wished her good night, and a
pleasant journey home to Pendeen, and a merry feasten tide.

" Now An' Pee didn't retiirn by the way of Polteggan Bottom
and Boswednan, though it's the nearest, because there are so
many stiles on that road and bogs near it. She took her course
through Castle Horneck fields. When .she came out into the
high road, she drank a little from hor bottle (which she had
refilled in town) and went on for three or four miles, as she
thought, being so distracted she couldn't tell whether she was

SHE DESIKES TO HAVE A BIDE. 157

going up hill or down dale half the time, and fancied herself
much more advanced on her journey than she really was, when
she beheld, a little before her, a man on horseback. By the proud
way he was stuck up on his high horse, she took him for a
gentleman who lived in the south of the parish

"An' Pee was very glad to see him, and he was going so
slowly that she soon overtook him, and when the old woman
came up he stood stock still. ' My dear, maister,' said she, ' how
glad I am to see 'e ; don't 'e know me ? I'm Pee Tregeer, and
you can't think how I've been served out to-day.' Then she told
him how she went down to the cove and anointed her eye with
witch's salve — how that made her to see Tom Trayer stealing from
the standings — how he put out her eye, because she left him
know, and other people too, that she was up to his tricks, and
had found out which way he managed to live so easy without
working like an honest man. The gentleman made no reply, and
An' Pee continued to say ' In spite of being blind, foot sore, and
leg weary, I'm got as far as here you see, and we can't be far
from Ballaswidden I should think, and oh ! my eye is still
burning like fire ; so, for goodness, do take pity on a poor
unfortunate oman and take her up behind 'e. I can ride well
enow on the flat ' cheens ' of your horse without pillion or pad ; it
won't be much out of your way to give one a lift down to Pendeen
gate, or if you will only take me over Dry Carn I won't forget
your kindness all my born days. I well remember the time when
you went much farther out of your way to meet me. Then, to be
sure, I was young and much better looking than I am now ;
though you are years older than I am, yet you are still a fine-
looking man, strong and lusty ; all your family are good-look-
ing boys ; and how upright you sit on your horse ! You have
still a colt's tooth in your head, if all they say be true, but why
don't 'e speak to me, are 'e gone to sleep ? One would think you
were takean a nap, and your horse too, it's standing so,quiet.'

" Not having a word in reply to the fine speech she made to
please the old gentleman, who didn't so much as turn his head,
An' Pee called out as loud as she could, ' Ef you are the lord of
Bosavern you needn't be stuck up there so proud that you won't
speak to a poor body a-foot, as ef I didn't know 'e and all
belonging to 'e ! ' Still he never spoke. Yet she thought he
winked 011 her, just as he used to do in his younger days. This
vexed her the more, and she screamed out, ' The time was when
the Tregeers were among the first in the parish, and were buried
in the church as well as the old Bosvarguses, Usticks, Borlases,
Milletts, and others of the quality ! Ef you won't believe me, ask
maister ; he can tell everything from his books.' Still no speech
with the horseman. 'Art ah dead drunk then? Wake up and

N

158 AN' PEE TREGEER'S TRIP TO MARKET.

/

speak to me, west ah ? ' screamed the old woman with increasing
anger, as she took up a stone and threw it at the sleeping steed.
The stone rolled back to her feet, and the horse didn't as much
as whisk his tail.

" Pee now got nearer, and saw that the rider had neither hat
nor wig on ; nor was there a hair to be seen on his bare head,
and, putting out her hand to touch the horse, she felt nothing
but a bush of furze. She rubbed her eyes, and saw at once, to
her great surprise, that what a moment before appeared (and she
would have sworn it was) a gentleman on horseback, was nothing
else but a tall cross that stands on a high bank, by the roadside,
about half a mile from Santust lane's end. The old woman
thought she was miles farther on, and must be so bewitched that
she couldn't believe her senses.

"Fearing that Tom Trayer was still dogging her steps, she
went on for dear life, and, not staying to look for the stepping
stones in the stream below Cardew Mill, she splashed through
with the water above her knees.

"On she went and, seeing a light on her right hand side, she
thought it shone through the window of a dwelling, where she
might rest awhile and dry herself, so she made for it, straight
across the moors, but went on for miles, it seemed to her, without
coming to it. Then the light went out and left her floundering
in the bogs; yet, getting out and steering for the place from
which it vanished, she at last found herself amidst the furze-ricks
and pigs' :crows in Boslow. Not seeing any light in the only
dwelling of this lonely place, An' Pee opened the door of an
out-house and entered it, hoping she might take a few hours'
rest.

" In the crow that the old dame entered she was glad to find a
good quantity of straw, on which she lay down and fell asleep,
but her slumbers were soon disturbed by a bosom of vears (litter
of sucking pigs) which had just been severed from their dam and
placed there to be weaned. The young sucklings, taking An' Pee
for their dam, continued rooting round her with their snouts.
All her endeavours to get a comfortable rest being in vain, she
came out and, hearing the sound of a threshal (flail) going, and
seeing a glimmer of light in the barn on the other side of the
town-place, she thought that the old man of Boslow was up late
threshing that he might have straw to serve his cattle over
Sunday. 'Now,' said the old woman to herself, as she crossed
the town-place, ' I shall get a spell of rest in the barn, for I feel
HO sleepy that no noise of threshing will hinder me from having
a nap.' She made for a window, which stood open and through
which the light glimmered, that she might have a peep at what
was going on before she went in.

MSKEY THRESHING. 159

"Looking in she could only see, at first, an old iron chill
(lamp) with two porvans (rush wicks) burning in it. The chill
hung from a stake, driven into the wall opposite, at the head of the
barn-boards. Then, in the faint light, she noticed a slash-staff
(beating part of the flail) going up and down, but couldn't see
anybody working it. That she might be able to reach her head
farther in, to see better, she rolled close under the window a big
stone, and, standing on that, on her tip-toes, she saw that the
threshal was worked by a little old man, no more than three feet
high, covered only with a fewrags, andhislong hair that hung over
his shoulders like a bunch of rushes, (a bunch beaten for making
sheep's spans). His face was broader than it was long; she
couldn't make out the colour of his great round owl's-eyes, they
were so shaded by his shaggy eyebrows, from between which his
long nose, like a snout, poked out. His mouth reached from ear
to ear, and they were set far back to make room for it. Pee
noticed, too, that his teeth were very long and jagged, for he was
so eager about his work that, with each stroke of the threshal,
he kept moving his thin lips round and up and down, and his
tongue in and out. He had nothing of a chin or neck to speak
of, but shoulders broad enow for a man twice his height. His
naked arms and legs were out of all proportion, and too long for
his squat body ; and his splayed feet were more like a quilkan's
(frog's) than a man's.

"'Well,' thought An' Pee, 'this es luck, to see Piskey
threshan ; for, ever since I can remember, I have heard it said
that Piskey threshed the corn in Boslow of winter's nights, and
did other odd jobs all the year round for the old couple who
lived here, but I wouldn't believe it. Yet here he es ! ' As
she reached farther in and looked round she beheld scores of
small people, no more than two feet high, attending on the
thresher ; some of them lugged down sheaves and placed them
handy for him ; others shook the straw and bore it off to the end
of the barn. An' Pee couldn't help admiring how, when one
side of a sheaf was threshed clean, Piskey, by a few quick,
smart blows, would rise the sheaf on its butt-end, then knock it
over quite cute like with the unthreshed side uppermost. When
the corn was all out of that side, with a few sharp blows on the
tongue of the bind, it was laid open and the straw sent to the
lower end of the boards with the tip of his slash-staff. An' Pee
declared that she never saw a smarter thresher in all her born
days.

' ' When a heap of corn had gathered on the boards, he raked
it off with the barn-rake and kicked the bruss-straw (short straw)
out of it, leaving the corn just as clean as if it had been winded.
In doing this job he raised such a dust that it set him and the

160 AN' PEE TREQEER'S TRIP TO MARKET.

small folks sneezing, and the old -woman, according to custom,
said ' Q-od bless 'e little men ! ' She had no sooner spoken the
words than the light went out and all vanished ; but she felt a
handful of dust thrown into her eyes that nearly blinded the
only peeper that she could see anything on, and she heard
Piskey squeak out,

' I spy thy snout, old Peepan Pee ;
And I'll serve thee out, or es much to me.'

"An' Pee felt rather uneasy when she remembered that the
' small people ' have great spite against anyone who watches
them or tries to pry into their doings.

"The night being clear she found her way out of the scrambly
lane, leading up from Boslow to the highroad, scampered on as
fast as she could, and never stopped till she reached the top of
Dry Carn. There she sat down a minute, that she might recover
her breath, to pass quickly over the road near Carn Kenidzek
and down the Gump, as everybody then (as now) dreaded that
haunted track ; indeed, few go near that wisht place, about the
turn of night, without hearing, if not seeing, the Old One and
his hounds, hunting among the rocks for any restless spirits that
might have strayed so far away from the churchyard — their only
place of safety — or some other frightful apparitions, fighting and
howling round the earn, or fleeing over the downs.

"She 'jailed' away — down the hill, as fast as she could lay foot
to ground, thinking to be home by the kitchen fire in a quarter
of an hour, and went far enough, as she thought, to have reached
Pendeen gate twice over. Then she feared that she might have
got into a wrong bridle-path over the downs, or that Piskey was
playing her a trick, because, turn whichever way she would, the
road appeared to be before her. After going on for a long while,
she saw light and heard music, at no great distance. Thinking
then that she must have kept too much on her left and be near
some house on the road to Churchtown, where they were getting
in tune for the dancing on Feasten Monday night, she went over
the downs, straight towards the light, feeling ready for a jig,
and stopped more than once to ' try her steps,' as the lively old
dancing tunes kept sounding in her ears. But, instead of arriving
at a house, as she expected to, in passing round some high rocks,
which hid the light a moment, she came, all at once, on a level
green, surrounded by furze and rocks, and there, a few yards
before her, saw troops of ' small people ' holding a fair, or
belike it might be their feasten market.

' ' Scores of little standings all in a row, were covered with
trinkets, such as knee and shoe buckles of silver and gold,
glistening with Cornish diamonds; pins, with jewelled heads;
brooches, rings, bracelets, and strings of crystal beads, figured

A FAIRY BEVEL ON THE DOWNS. 161

•with green and red, or blue and gold ; and scores of other pretty
things quite new to An' Pee ; who, not to disturb the small folks
till she had seen all that was doing, crept along softly in the rear
of the standings, till she stood opposite a company of dancers ;
hundreds of them linked hand in hand, after the old bonfire-
dance fashion, were whirling round so fast that it made her head
light to look at them.

' ' Small as they were — none more than two feet high, and rather
slender in make — they were all decked out like old-fashioned
gentry — the little men in three-cocked hats and feathers ; full,
square-skirted, blue coats, stiff with buckram and gay with lace
and buttons ; vest, breeches, and stockings of a lighter hue ; and
their dainty little shoes fastened with diamond clasps. Some few,
who were rigged more like soldiers or huntsmen, wore either jet-
black or russet-coloured riding boots.

"An' Pee said that she couldn't name the colours of the little
ladies' dresses, which were of all the hues of summer's blossoms
The vain little things, to make themselves look the taller, had
their powdered hair turned up on pads and dressed with flowers,
lace, and ribbons to an extraordinary height for such dolls of
things. Their gay gowns were very long-waisted, and their
skirts so distended by hoops that they looked just as broad as they
were long. Their shoes of velvet or satin, were high-heeled and
pointed at the toes. The men were much darker complexioned
than the women, yet they were all very good looking, with
sparkling dark eyes, well-shaped noses, sweet little mouths, and
dimpled cheeks and chins. Not one among them, that she saw,
had a spotty face or purple-top nose, because they drink nothing
stronger than honey-dew. Some, to be sure, appeared to be
rather aged, yet, all were sprightly, merry, and gay.

" In the dancers' ring stood a May-pole about three yards high,
all wreathed with flowers. "Where they got them, that time of
the year, to make their garlands, was a wonder. The pipers,
standing in their midst, played lively old dance tunes that are
now but seldom heard, and An' Pee never felt more inclined for
a dance in her life than when she heard their cheery music ; but
how could she reel round among such little beings and have a
jig without kicking them down ?

"'The women,' she always said, 'were the sauciest little
creatures that one ever seed ; she was most ashamed to look at
them — tossing up their heels, forwards and backwards, higher
than their heads, and kicking off the men's hats, as they capered
round and round.' Every now and then, one would unlock her
hands and, breaking out of the ring, take a leap right over the
men's heads, perch on the May-pole, and there spin round, on her
toe, like a whirligig.

162 AN' PEE TEEOEEE'S TRIP TO MAEKET.

"There were lights about in all directions — lanthorns no bigger
than gun-pop (fox-glove) flowers, hanging in rows along the
standings, and rushlights, in paper cups like tulips, shone among
the gingerbread-nuts, comfits, candied angelica, peppermint-
drops, and more enticing things that are seen in any other fair.
She thought, too, that all the glow-worms in creation had
gathered together near the fair-ground, to help to light it up.
Yet, with all these lights, there was such a shimmer over every-
thing that the old dame got bewildered at times and could never
see anything so plainly as she wished.

" At no great distance from the dancers there was a wrestling
ring, where many little ladies were looking on, betting on their
favourites and helping them with their good wishes and applause.
Farther on, some were shooting with bows and arrows at a
target. Others were playing at keals (bowls). Every here and
there the lilly-bangers (raffle-keepers) with their tables and dice
kept a great noise calling out, ' Come hither, sweet ladies and
gentlemen, and try your luck ! One in, two in, ihree in ; who
will make four in for this nice cake ? ' Farther off, nearly out of
sight, a great number were ' hurling to the gold ' (goal). She
knew what was going on from hearing the old cry of ' Well done,
Santusters, one and all, comrades ; fair play is good play ' and,
every now and then she saw the little hurling-ball, as it was cast
from side to side, shine like a shooting star. By that means they
contrived to hurl by night.

"All games, which usedto be played at fairs and merry-makings,
were there carried on. Still, great part of the small folks diverted
themselves in parading up and down, on the green, between the
standings and dancing-ground, examining the pretty things
displayed. They didn't seem to have any money amongst them
to buy anything, yet they often bartered their trinkets and
changed them from stall to stall.

" The old woman determined to have some of the pretty things
glistening before her, but, among so much that was beautiful,
she couldn't make up her mind what to take. Whilst An' Pee
was considering, she saw approach the standing a little lady, tired
with dancing, leaning her head on her partner, who with his arm
round her waist supported her steps. The gentleman taking from
the hands of a little dame who kept the stall a golden goblet of
the size and shape of a poppy head (capsule) held it to the faint
lady's lips. Sipping the contents she recovered in an instant,
and, choosing a fan, made of a few goldfinch feathers stuck into
a pearl handle, her partner took a pair of diamond buckles from
his knees and placed them on the standing by way of pledge.
The little couple having tripped off again to the dance, An' Pee
thought how well the bright little buckles would look, fixed as

A GREEDY EYE AND ITS REWARD. 163

brooches, on her Sunday's cap-ribbon or in her neckatee, and
determined to secure them at once, fearing they might be gone
with the next small body that saw them.

"As there was nothing that she could so readily turn inside-
out, and drop on them, as one of her gloves, which reached to
her elbows, she drew off one, inside-out, and dropped it, as it
seemed to her, right on the buckles. Her hand nearly touched
them ; but, in trying to grasp them under her glove, a palm of
pins or needles, so small that she didn't notice them, stuck into
her fingers, and she cried out, ' Oh ! Cuss 'e ! You little buccas.'
That instant all the lights went out, and all the fair, and most of
the small people, vanished like shadows among the rocks or sunk
into the earth, like muryans (ants) into their holes.

' ' Yet many of the frolicsome sprights were still about her, as
she soon found to her cost.

" Whilst she was still stooping, and groping for her glove and
the buckles, she felt a great number of the small tribe — a score
or more — leap on her back, neck, and head. At the same time
others, tripping up her heels, laid her flat on the ground and
rolled her over and over. More than once, when her face was
uppermost, she caught a glimpse of Piskey, all in rags as usual,
mounted on a year-old colt, his toes stuck in the mane, holding a
rush in his hand to guide it. There he sat, putting on the smaller
sprights to torment her, making a tee-hee-hee and haw-haw-haw,
with his mouth open from ear to ear.

"When she spread out her arms and squeezed herself down,
that they shouldn't turn her over, they would squeak and grunt
in trying to lift her ; but all her endeavours to hinder their game
were of no use. Somehow or other over she went, and every time
they turned her face downwards some of the small fry would
jump on her back and there jig away with ' heel-and-toe ' from
her head to her feet. In the pitch and pass of their three-handed
reels, it was who and who should get on her stays ; the steel and
whalebone in that, she supposed, served them as a springing-board.
In the finishing off of their double shuffles they would leap
more than three times their height, turn a summersault over each
others' heads, and so make the pass. An' Pee twisted her head on
one side, saw what they were at, and tried to beat them off with
her stick, but they got it from her hand, laid it across her waist,
and mounting on it astride, as many as could, bobbed up and
down, singing,

' See-saw-see,
Lie still, old Peepan Pee.

See-saw-see,
Upon old Peepan Pee,
"Who should better ride than we ?

See-saw-see.'

164 AN' PEE TBEOEER'S TBIP TO MARKET.

" The old woman, not to be beaten with such imps, tossed back
her feet to kick them off; then they held her legs doubled back
and pulled off her shoes ; some jumped up and balanced themselves
on her upturned toes, whilst others pricked at, and tickled, the
soles of her feet till she fell into fits of crying and laughing
by turns.

" Pee was almost mad with their torment, when, by good luck,
she remembered to have heard that the adder-charm was power-
ful to drive away all mischievous sprights. She had no sooner
pronounced the words than they all fled screeching down the
hill, Piskey galloping after ; they left her lying on a bed of furze,
near a large rock.

" She got on her feet, and, looking round, saw, by the starlight
of a clear frosty morning, that the place to which she had been
piskey-led was near the bottom of the Gump ; that the level
spot of green on which the small people held their fair, and
carried on their games, was almost surrounded by high rocks,
and was no larger over than the Green-court or walled garden in
front of Pendeen house ; yet, when the fair was on it, through
the sprights' illusions, this green spot seemed like a three-acre
field.

" An' Pee only found her stick. The basket, tied to her arm,
was empty and broken to pieces. She paced the ground over and
round, in hope of finding her hat and shoes, and above •all her
glove, and the precious buckles under it. Giving over at length
her fruitless search, with the help of her stick she hobbled, bare-
footed and bare-headed, down the hill and reached Pendeen

" ' Now thank the powers,' said she, as she passed through it
and slammed it behind her, ' I shall be a-bed and sleepan in a
few minutes.'

"Though An' Pee knew that Piskey had played her many
tricks that night, and she thought he might be still dogging
her footsteps, yet she was so bewildered that, until too late, it
never came into her head to turn some of her clothing inside
out, and now, so near home, she defied him to lead her astray.

' ' Inside Pendeen gate there is one road leading to the mansion
and another which goes down to the mill. Between them there
were two or three acres of ground, which had probably never
been cleared or cultivated, as there were several large rocks
remaining on it and brakes of furze, seldom cut, because the old
Squire, or his family, had stocked this piece of rough ground with
fancy breeds of tame rabbits, and the wild ones which came among
them from not being chased or shot at, became so tame that they
continued their frisky gambols, without showing any signs of
fear when persons passed near them ; and, for the pleasure of

SHE OETS HOME. 165

seeing the bunnies sport, furze was allowed to grow here and
there over great part of this ground.

"In passing to the house An' Pee avoided the stony road and
walked on the green, because her poor bare feet were cut and sore.

"Now hundreds of times — drunk and sober — on the darkest
nights she had gone along the grass beside the bridle-paths,
without once missing her way to the Green-court gate. Yet, that
Hallan Eve she, somehow, went too far from the road, got in on
the grassy patches between the furze, and, before she knew that
she had missed her way, found herself down by the mill-road.
She followed up that track, and in making a new attempt to
reach the house, she again got among the furze and wandered
about on the patches of green between them for hours without
coming to either road. Yet, as usual, with piskey-led persons
the path appeared either before or close beside her, until, tired
out, she lay down to wait for day and fell asleep.

" The Squire and all his household were very much concerned
because of the old woman's absence, well knowing that no
ordinary matter would keep her from home on the feasten tide.
During the night the servants had been sent to the villages
round, to inquire if anyone had seen her in Penzance or on the
road, but no tidings were obtained of her. The Squire rose by
break of day and called up his servants to hunt for her. In
passing along the road towards the gate, only a few yards from
the house, he heard somebody snoring in a brake of furze
bordering on the path, and there he found his housekeeper very
ragged and torn. Some say he discovered her by finding on the
road her knitting-work, with the yarn hanging to it, and, by
taking up the yarn, he went by it till he found the dame with
some of the ball in her pocket. However that may be, he roused
her with great difficulty, and, without opening her eyes, she said,

" ' I wan't turn out to please anybody till I've had my morning
nap ; so go away, go, and shut my chamber door ! '

"At length her master, having brought her to her senses,
helped her up and asked what made her take up her lodgings
on the cold ground ?

" In passing slowly along, and stopping awhile at the Green-
court gate, she told him of her mishaps.

" The Squire didn't think one half of what she said could be
true ; indeed he questioned whether she had been to Penzance at
all, and thought it quite as likely that she had stayed tippling
at the cove till near dark, starting for town, had missed her way,
and, wandering over the Gump, had there, or where he found
her, fallen asleep and dreamt great part of what she told him.

" ' Belike Pee,' said the Squire, as she was about to go down
the Green-court steps, ' what you took at the cove had something

166 AN' PEE TREGEEK'S TRIP TO MARKET.

to do with rising the spirits you saw.'

" 'Oh! you misbelieving man,' cried she, turning round, and
holding towards him her uplifted hands, ' if I like a drop of good
liquor to cheer my heart, now and then, I never took so much as
to do me harm in all my born days ; and, leave me tell 'e, that
with all your learning, and doubting, you know but little about
the ' small people.' There es more taking place in the region of
spirits, as I've heard the parson say, than you can learn from
your books, and for want of faith, I fear me you will never be
enlightened.^ Yet as sure as my name is Penelope Tregeer, I
seed, heard,' and what is more I felt, all that I now tell 'e.'

" 'Go in and sleep the spirits out of thy noddle, that thou
rnayest be in time to see about the feasten dinner,' said the
Squire, as he turned away, and took his favourite morning's
walk to the cove.

" When he came in, after a turn round the cliff and up by the
mill, he found the old woman, never the worse for her journey,
busy preparing the feasten fare, and the ladies and gentlemen of
his family, and numerous visitors, at an early breakfast that
they might have time to proceed to church in grand state on the
feasten day."

PENDEEN> OF OLD.

Capt. Peter, having taken a pull from the pewter pot, continued
with — " Believe me, comrades, Pendeen didn't then look wisht at
feasten tides nor at any other time, when one saw, (and smelt,
too), the sweet scent of turf-smoke that curled up from chimney
stacks, which now look down sorrowfully on cold hearths ; and
one saw fair faces peering through the casements, numbers of
ladies and gentlemen walking about the garden alleys and courts
of the old mansion, or when the cry of hounds and the winding
of the horn echoeing through the house, called one and all to
the hunt at early morn. And, I can but think," he continued, "how
strangers visiting Pendeen for the first time, after riding over
miles of open downs with scarce a dwelling in sight, must have
been surprised when they caught the first glimpse of the noble
old seat, which is only seen when close at hand, and the track of
rich cultivated land between it and the sea ; it must have appeared
to them like a place raised by enchantment, as we hear of in old
stories. And the old masons, who took pride in their art and did
their work truly, were right to bestow such labour on the
beautiful chimney stacks of the old mansion, because they are
there first seen, and from parts where little else of the house is
visible; and the first sight, like first love, is never forgotten,
mates."

THE VOW. 167

Capt. Peter paused, drained the pewter pot, which had stood
foaming before him, handed it to the cheerful old landlady to be
replenished, and took a smoke. A tinner, who sat by the fire
knocking the ashes out of his pipe, said, whilst he cut up his
roll-tobacco, rubbed it in the palm of his hand, and refilled : —

' ' I don't understand very well Capen what is meant by en-
chantment, only that it's something strange and wonderful.
Now, to my mind, the greatest wonder about the place is the
Vow. One end of it we know is within a few yards of the
mansion, but no one knows where the other is to be found. Ef
there be any truth in old traditions about that cavern, adit,
fougou, or whatever it may be called, it runs for a great distance
(some say miles), yet most people believe that the eastern end was
once open at the cove. Others will have it that old tinners, who
lived before part of the roof had fallen in, travelled in it for ten
times the distance from the house to the cove, and burned more
than a pound of candles without finding the end. They always
returned frightened, and what they saw to scare them they could
never be got to tell.

" Perhaps the Spirit of the Vow, that many have seen at the
entrance, in the appearance of a tall lady, dressed in white, with
a red rose in her mouth, at all seasons of the year, may take a
more fearful form within the cavern.

" Who can tell," he continued, "but that money and treasures
may have been secreted there in troublesome times of old, and I
wonder why the Squire don't have the mystery about the Vow
cleared up ; there can't be much of the roof fallen in, and, for
my part, I'd willingly give all my time, out of core for a
month to help clear away the rubbish and take the venture
upon shares."

"I am very much of thy mind, my dear," Capt. Peter
replied, "Ef the Squire would give us leave we'd pitch cost as
soon as the feast is over, and I don't think we should find there
many spirits to frighten us away. I believe that many of the
fearful stories about the Vow were invented by smugglers.
When the fair trade was in its glory the Vow was a convenient
place for storage, and I think that the smugglers, who didn't
want any faint hearts, with weak heads and long tongues, to
come near them, invented many fearful stories to scare such
away. One never finds any so fond of prying into other people's
business as the foolish ones, or ' Grammer's weak children,'
as we say."

168 HOW PISKEY LEFT BOSLOW.

Tells how the drudging goblin sweat
To earn his cream bowl duly set,
When in one night, ere glimpse of morn,
His shadowy flail hath thresh' d the corn.

MILTON.

"No doubt," said the tinner after a pause, " Piskey threshed
the corn and did other odd jobs for the old man of Boslow, as
long as he lived, and they said that after his death he worked
some time for the old widow, till he took his departure from the
place about three score years ago. Some say" —

" Stop a minute, my son, I can tell 'e a story about that," said
Capt. Peter, taking the pipe from his mouth, and holding up his
finger : — " One night, when the hills were covered with snow and
winter had come severely, the old widow of Boslow left in the
barn for Piskey a larger bowl than usual of gerty milk (boiled
milk, thickened with pillas, or oatmeal). Being clear moonlight
she took a turn round the town-place, stopped at the barn-door,
and looked in to see if Piskey were come to eat his supper while
it was hot. The moonlight shone through a little window right
on the barn-boards, and there, sitting on a sheaf of oats, she saw
Piskey eating his gerty milk very hearty. He soon emptied his
wooden bowl, and scraped it with the wooden spoon as clean as if
it had been washed out. Having placed the ' temberan dish and
spoon' in a corner, he stood up and patted and stroked his stomach,
and smacked his lips in a way that was as much as to say, ' that's
good of 'e old dear; see ef I don't thresh well for 'e to-night.'
But when Piskey turned round, the old woman was sorry to see
that he had nothing on but rags and a very little of them.

" ' How poor Piskey must suffer with the cold,' she thought
and said to herself, ' to pass great part of his time out among the
rushes in the boggy moors or on the downs with this weather —
his legs all naked, and a very holey breeches. I'll pitch about it
at once, and make the poor fellow a good warm suit of home-
spun. We all know ragged as Piskey es, he's so proud that he
won't wear cast-off clothes, or else he should have some of my
dear old man's — the Lord rest him.'

"No sooner thought than she begun ; and, in a day or two,
made a coat and breeches, knitted a pair of long sheep's-black
stockings, with garters, and a nightcap, knitted too.

"When night came the old woman placed Piskey 's new
clothes, and a bowl of gerty milk on the barn-boards, where
the moonlight would shine on them to show them best. A
few minutes after leaving the barn she came back to the door,
opened its upper part a little, and, looking in, saw Piskey
standing up, eating his milk, and squinting at the clothes at
the same time. Laying down his empty bowl he took the new

OLD EOADS AND STEPPING-STONES. 169

breeches on the tip of his hand-staff, carried it to the window,
and seeing what it was, put it on over his rags, dragged on
the stockings, and gartered them, donned coat and cap, then
jumped over the barn-boards, and capered round the barn, like
a fellow light in the head, singing,

• " ' Piskey fine and Piskey gay,
Piskey now will run away.'

"And, sure enow, run away he did ; for when he came round to
the door opening into the mowhay he bolted out and took himself
off without as much as saying, ' I wish 'e well 'till I see again '
to the old woman, who stood outside the other door looking at
am. Piskey never came back and the old woman of Boslow
died that winter."

AN OVEKSEEB AND A PARISH CLERK OF Si. JUST
ABOUT SIXTY YEARS AGO.

"It was no wonder if persons coming from Penzance to
Pendeen of a dark night should miss their way and think them-
selves piskey-led," said the tinner.

" There was neither bridge nor house in the place called New
Bridge before wheel carriages were in use, and the only St. Just
road from Penzance this side of Cardew Water was a mere bridle-
path or rather a great number of horse tracks, often crossing
each other and twisting about far and wide round rocks and
intervening patches of furze, over miles of open downs and
boggy moors, with no hedges near the road to keep it within
bounds. When one track was worn too deep it was never repaired,
as there was plenty of room to make a new one. Bridges then
were few, and for the most part made by placing flat slabs to rest
on the stepping-stones in some of the deepest streams, for the
convenience of foot passengers. These old foot-bridges were ugly
things to cross by night and the stepping-stones were worse."

"We have all heard about the old stepping-stones in Nan-
cherrow Water," said the tinner, who finished the foregoing
story, "how, after day-down, no one could pass over them in
going to Church-town without some mishap, and no person would
venture to return that way until daybreak. Shortly before the

170 AN' PEE TREGEER'S TRIP TO MARKET.

first bridge was built there, one of the overseers was a farmer
who lived in the North of St. Just. Few persons then could
either write or read, except one here and there, who passed for a
great scholar if he could sign his name and read a chapter in the
Psalter without much spelling. The overseer not knowing how to
write or cipher, kept the accounts of his monthly disbursements
on the dairy-door, in round o's for shillings and long chalks for
pence. The last Saturday of each month he took the dairy-door
on his back and carried it to Church-town, that the clerk might
enter his accounts in the parish book.

"One Saturday, in the season when days are short and streams
high, the overseer couldn't make out his accounts and reach
Nancherrow Water before dark ; and, in passing, with the door
on his back, over the wet and slippery stones, he lost his balance,
and fell into the stream. By good luck the door was under, and
floated him down to a place where the water spread out shallow
and there he landed, but all the accounts were washed out. 'Tis
said that the overseer's mishap was the reason why the first
bridge was built over Nancherrow Water."

" I can tell 'e another sad case," said the Capt. "We elderly
folks have all heard of Uncle Will Ben, who was the parish clerk
and the best fiddler in the parish, a little before I was born, and
everybody says he was what we call a ' peathy old fellow, with
plenty of gumption.'

" One Feasten Monday Uncle Will was rather late in going to
Church-town with his fiddle, in a case, under his arm, to play
during the night in a public house. Being Feasten Monday, like
enough he had stopped to take a drop at neighbours' houses on
the road ; however, in crossing Nancherrow Water, his foot
slipped from the stepping-stones and his fiddle fell from under
his arm into the water, floated down the stream and in under a
high bank where it was caught in some brambles. A gentleman
riding through the water, saw Uncle Will a little below trying to
get at something with his stick, and asked what was the matter.
Uncle Will told him of his mishap. 'I pity your case,' the
horseman replied, and rode on.

" ' I don't care a cuss for the case if I'd only got my fiddle,'
replied Uncle Will.

1 ' This gave rise to the saying which is still often heard, ' I
don't care a cuss for the case, if I'd only got the fiddle,' as Uncle
Will Ben said.

" This old jewel of a parish clerk and fiddler said many other
things which are still remembered and used as every-day sayings.

"It was the custom then for the great farmers to invite the
parson and clerk to supper on goolthise (harvest-home) day, and
the sexton usually came to work and see his reverend master

UNCLE WILL BEX. 171

safe home. Often all three came in time to lend a hand about
the corn carrying. If two farmers had their goolthise on the
same day the parson and sexton favoured one and the clerk the
other. It happened, one day, when Uncle Will came alone early
in the morning to help, and to enjoy the feast, that the weather
•was very lowering, and such was the fear of rain coming before
the corn was in ricks, and thatched, that the carrying was
continued all day for dear life, without stopping to take any
other breakfast or dinner than such snacks as the corn carriers
could catch, when there were more trusses round the ricks than
the builders could put away for some time. The corn was then,
except on a few large farms where ox- wains were just coming
into use, all carried on the horses' backs, and the chasers, as they
called the leaders who kept the trusses steady on the horses, were
fond of coming in together that they might have a race back to
the field, made the mowers work very irregular ; it was gallop
and stop half the time. That day, however, all worked with
such a will that the corn was in and thatched in good time before
the rain came.

" The supper being served, the clerk, in the absence of the
parson, was asked to say grace. Uncle Will hesitated a moment ;
then, rising, he said, ' Thank God we have carried all the corn
and had very fine weather ; so here's grace for breakfast, dijiner,
and supper together.'

"Yet what is usually known as Uncle Will Ben's grace, is,
' God bless the meat and now let's eat ! '

"Another saying accredited to Uncle Will — that 'Job had
patience, but Job never had such a splat of black petates in his
life ' — is owing to An' Mary, his wife, having been a parson's
daughter from upwards, and ' brought up like a lady ' as he was
fond of saying sometimes. When Will was a young and smart
militia man, and An' Mary a girl in her teens, he fell in love with
her and she fell in love with him, and came with him to St. Just.
In their time potatoes were just coming into use ; gentlemen and
some farmers planted a few in their gardens as a curious vegetable
to be used on extraordinary occasions. Will Ben, not to be behind
the fashion, had a small spot planted in his garden. When his
potatoes were high enough for hoeing Will told his wife Mary,
who kept the garden in order, to hoe the ' splat of petates,' and
be sure to hoe them clean. When William came in from his
work in the fields, he said, ' Well Mary, hast a hoed the
petates ? ' ' Yes, William dear, and hoed them nice and clean ;
just go out and look at them whilst I take up the supper.'
' William dear ' went into the garden, but he saw no potatoe-
plants, for Mary had cut them all out of the ground, not knowing
them from weeds. ' Dear William ' came in swearing on his wife

172 AN' PEE TBEGEEK'S TRIP TO MARKET.

for hoeing up all the precious petates, telling her that it had
been ten times better for him if he had wedded the sexton's dafter,
as she would have made a better farmer's wife. An' Mary (who,
as I have heard say, was always a dear gentle soul) only replied,
' Sweet William, have patience and they will grow again.
Remember Job, William dear, and think, cheeld vean, how he
had patience.'

"'Oh! d n Job,' replied sweet William, 'don't tell me

about Job. Job never had such a splat of black petates in his
life!'

"And now, my dears," said Capt. Peter, " holding up a pot of
foaming ale, here's health and luck to 'e all, my hearties, and a
merry Feasten-tide to ' one and all.' There's no sense in being
miserable, and, for my part, old as I am, I'd go ten miles this
night to dance to the music of as good a fiddler and as honest a
man as Uncle Will Ben."

THE FAIRY MASTER, OR BOB o' THE CARX.

Out steps some Faery, with quick motion,
And tells him wonders of some flowrie vale.

MAKSTON.

UST fifty years ago, one Tom Treva lived on a small
lone tenement near the foot of Carn Kenidjack hill.
He had a large family and disliked for any of them
to go in service. The boys, as they grew up, worked
in the mines, and helped about the tillage of their
few acres of crofts 'out of core.' The eldest daughter,
Grace, remained at home to assist her mother, who
took pride in making her handy in doing all such
simple work as was required in their humble house-
hold. But as it was hard for them to make both ends
meet, the poor girl had no best clothes except such as were made
out of old gowns which had belonged to her grandmother.
These were very gay, to be sure, yet so old-fashioned that other
maidens, who worked at the mines and procured more modish
dresses, wouldn't be seen anywhere from home with Grace and
her grammer's old gowns. She didn't much mind their company,
however. Her mother and ' the boys ' (her brothers) promised
her, year after year, that against the next Feasten-tide, if they
could only lay by a few shillings, they would buy her as smart a
rig-out as any of the proud hussies could show. But, with so
many mouths to be fed, it was hard for them to save a farthing. So
tides came and went, and Grace "had nothing for bettermost wear
that was fit to be seen in Church-town or anywhere else from
home," so the bal-maidens said, and they "wouldn't be seen going
to preaching or to games with her;" yet she didn't mind it much,
and seemed contented enough to stay at home, in the evenings
listening to old stories related by her father and others who

174 THE FAIRY MASTER.

gathered round his hearth, because they, too, were not rich or
smart enow to follow the fashions then upsetting all old customs
among such Santusters as ' got a sturt to bal.' Grace would go
about her wort, in-doors and out, singing like a lark. She was
nearly sixteen, when a cousin of about her own age, who had
been away only a year in farmer's service, a few miles off, came
to see them the next Feast, dressed out quite like a lady, to
Grace's seeming ; for she wore a blue shining dress and ear-rings,
and necklaces of red, green, and yellow beads that she changed
more than once a day, or wore them altogether, while the flowers
in her bonnet were the admiration of all beholders.

"I should be glad, cousin Grace," said she, "to put thee
up to Church-town to the fiddler a Monday night, and wish
I had only brought home one of my frocks for thee to wear;
but really, cheeld, grammer's old gowns would make thee a
laughing-stock to the youngsters, and not one of them would
dance with us. Go thee way'st in service, cheeld, that thee may'st
get a stock of clothes fit to be seen in, and a sweetheart that thee
west soon want to have as well as other maidens ! But the Lord
help thee and the young fellow who would come a courting and
take thee to Morvah Fair even in that old rorey-torey gown, with
red and blue flowers so large that the birds are nesting in them."

Grace became very dissatisfied after this vision of grandeur,
and never gave her mother any peace till she consented for her
to go in service next summer. She was the more ready to let
Grace try her fortune away, as other daughters were growing up
to help her. So, during winter, she and her mother spun and
knitted for dear life that they might earn a few extra shillings to
provide changes of under clothing against she set out to look
for service

For weeks Grace had been going round saying good-bye to the
neighbours, and she rose one fine morning and gave the last kiss,
and said, "I wish 'e well, for the last time," to all the family
round. Her father, on parting, charged her not to go more than
a day's journey from home, and be sure to keep far away from
Penzance or any town, for fear she should be kidnapped, and
they should nevermore see her. He told her how strange sailors,
that frequented such places, often prowled about for miles, and
no maiden was safe within their reach. Grace promised to be on
her guard, took her fardel, and started on her journey towards
the southern parishes where gentlemen farmers lived.

On her way she thought upon what her smart cousin had told
her to go over to the other side of the country, get into good
farmer's service, where she might soon qualify herself to live in
a gentleman's house and get higher wages. She had advised her
not to pay much heed to what old folks said in their fears, about

OBACE'S JOURNEY. 175

conjurors, witches, small people, and such like, that are seldom
met with now-a-days. " Up here amongst the hills you know
but little of the world," said the cousin, "and your old drolls
arn't altogether to be believed." Grace couldn't help going out
of her way a little to take a last look of Carn Kenidjack, where
she had passed many happy hours, for youngsters were accustomed
to meet there of Sunday afternoons to play about amongst the
rocks or listen to old folks' stories. Then she went on with a
pretty good heart till she reached high ground, from which she
could only just see the smoke curling over the house-tops below.
She turned round, took a farewell look, her eyes blinded with
tears ; then she went a little farther and sat down on a rock by
the road-side, to have a good cry and ease her heart.

She wept aloud to think she was going to an unknown country
to live amongst strangers — that she might nevermore behold her
parents and old playmates. But still, determined to go on, even
if she went as far as daylight would take her, she dried her eyes
with her apron ; and, looking up, she saw standing close beside
her a very nice-looking gentleman. He wished her good morrow
and asked why she wept.

" Oh, sir, I have left home," she replied, "and am on the road
to a strange country to look for service,"

"Well now, good luck has directed me," said he, "for, hearing
there were tidy girls up this way, I started early this morning
and am come so far to seek one that might take care of my house
and little son, and a nicer maid than you one needn't wish to
find. Indeed you look as fresh as a rose in morning dew."

He then sat on the rock beside Grace and told her that he was
left a widower with one little boy, who had nobody but an old great-
aunt to look after him; there was little else to do but the dairy-
work after one cow, and a few poultry to take care of. " Come
along home with me, Grace," said he, rising and taking up her
bundle, "you can but try, and shall stay with^me, if you don't
like it, till you hear of some other place that may suit 'e better."
Grace wondered how he came there, for she hadn't seen him
coming over the downs; and was surprised that he knew her
name. Yet she said nothing, because her mother had often told
her not to ask questions but to use her ears and eyes to learn.

The gentleman looked so handsome and spoke so kind, that,
without hesitation, she went on with him and related how her
parents had a large family, that her mother had taught her
dairy- work, to cook in a plain way, and to spin and knit. "You
will do, I'm sure," said he, " and if you had time to spare I
suppose you wouldn't mind helping me weed the garden or pick
fruit in the orchard."

" There's nothing I should like better," she replied, "for the

176 THE FAIRY MASTER.

work about one cow and a child can't be much."

He told her that his name was Robin, though most of his
acquaintance called him Bob o' the Cam, or Bobby Cam.

In such like talk they went on, down hill, towards the Low
Countries ; and Grace, with her eyes fixed on her companion,
didn't notice their road, and that for some time they had been
walking through green lanes, hedged with trees ; honey-suckles,
and such sweet flowers as she had never seen hung over head.
The gentleman remarking her surprise, said, " These trees and
flowers are nothing to what you will see, ere long, where I dwell;
but up in your high country no trees and but few flowers grow ;
that's how you think these so wonderful.

Over a while they came in sight of a large house ; " Oh, sir,
es that a king's palace?" demanded she, "and see, the trees
around it are higher than church towers ! "

"No, my child, there's many such dwellings down this way,
and even larger ones, but no kings reside here," answered he.

Grace hadn't ceased wondering at the grand building when
they came to where four roads met, and kept straight on, still
going down hill, all amidst spreading trees which shaded the road
by the side of which were rills of clear water, that every here and
there sunk into the grass and re-appeared. Where streams crossed
their road Grace's companion lifted her over them that she
mightn't even wet her foot.

She had no notion of the distance they had gone, for he gave
her cake and cordials ever so often, and talked so pleasantly that
the time seemed as nothing, and she would have gone on with
him to the world's end.

At length they came out of the wood near a river and she saw
it was nearly sunset. "We are now all but come to my dwelling,"
said her master. (We may as well call him. so since she had
made up her mind to live with him).

He bore her over the stepping-stones that crossed the river
near the foot of a towering earn of grey rocks that rose amidst a
wood close by the water side. They passed up by the river a little
way and entered an orchard. Grace wondered at the trees, bend-
ing down with loads of red and yellow apples and many kinds
of fruit that she had never before seen. By a winding alley they
came to a green, all surrounded with blossoming trees and dotted
over with curious beds of sweet flowers, most of them unknown
to Grace, who, without perceiving that they left the garden,
entered what looked like an arbour and found herself in her
master's dwelling before she noticed it, hidden as it was by
roses and flowering plants which spread over its walls and roof.

Yet the kitchen was light enough for her to see rows of pewter
that shone like silver. A wood fire blazed on the hearth, though

ATOT1 PKUDEJfCE. 177

it -was high summer time ; and beside it, on a chimney-stool* sat
a prim sour-looking old woman, knitting. She looked at Grace
as if her eyes would bore holes through her, when the master
said, " I'm come, Aunt Prudence, with a tidy maid that I had
the good luck to meet on her way to look out for a place."

"I see thee art come, Robin," she replied, still keeping her
eyes on Grace ; " and it seems to me thee hast brought hither a
young giglet that will use her tongue more than her hands ! "We
shall see."

"So we shall," remarked he, rather affronted with Prue's
remarks, "and when you have shown her what is to be done,
you needn't take the trouble to come here often. And where' s
the boy? " he asked.

" Here I am, dadda! " exclaimed a little fellow, bounding in
to kiss his father, who took him on his knee ; and An' Prue, as
was her wont, mumbled to herself " we shall see."

The boy from his size appeared no more than six or seven years
old. but his face looked like a cunning old man's, and his eyes
were uncommon sharp.

Grace looked from one to the other rather confused, when her
master said, " My little Bob, here's a nurse for 'e, who will give
ye your milk, wash your face, and anoint your eyes, just like
your mother used to ; I hope you will like her." "That I can't
tell yet," said the urchin, eyeing Grace for all the world just like
An' Prue, and he looked then almost as old. The master, however,
without more palaver, placed on the board, bread, cheese, apples,
honey, and other things, sat down, told Grace to do the same,
and eat what she liked ; and, that after milking-time she could
cook a good savoury supper. She had never before tasted such
nice white bread and other things ; after making a hearty meal,
she said, "I may as well pitch to." "Rest thee till milking-
time," said An' Prue, "a new broom sweeps clean, faix,"
mumbled she, in taking another survey through her spectacles.

Over an hour or so Robin told Grace that she had only to take
the pail, pass through the orchard into a meadow by the
waterside, call "Pruit, Pruit," and the cow would come to her;
she did as directed, and from amidst the trees came a beautiful
white cow, which stood with her udder right over the bucket
and showered down her milk, so that in a minute it was full and
running over. Grace rose to fetch another vessel that the milk
mightn't go to waste ; but when she lifted the bucket, the cow
lowed, and, before the maiden left the meadow, disappeared in
the wood. Grace told her master how the cow was gone off with
the best milk. "That pailful will do for the night," said he;
" the cow is far away by this, but if at any time you wish to have
more you may take two or three pails, and ' Daisy ' — that's her

178 THE FAIRY MASTER.

name — will fill them all, but she won't wait for 'e to fetch more
things." " She must be a jewel of a cow, for sure, and I'll have
all the pans full to-morrow," thought Grace, as she strained the
milk, and washed the strainer and bucket, and did other jobs so
handy, that even the old dame looked less sour on her. The
master went out to feed his horse — he had a beauty in the stable
close at hand — and that while Prudence said, "Now mind, Grace,
you must always put the child to bed by daylight, and as you
sleep in the same room go 'e to bed then too ; if your master be
home, he can do without you ; and should he be away, you need
not wait up for his return ; you are not to go into the spare
rooms, nor to meddle with what don't concern 'e ; nor ask
any questions, except about your work, and then I'll tell 'e
as much as you are required to know. And let me warn 'e, that
if you enter your master's private room, you will rue the day as
long as you live. In the mornings rise with the sun ; take the
child to a spring, that he can show 'e, wash him well and then
anoint his eyes with this ointment," continued she, in showing
Grace a small ivory box of a greenish unguent, that she took
from the cupboard; "a bit, the size of a pin's head or less, is
enow to be put in the corner of each eye. Then milk ' Daisy,'
and give the child this bowlfull and no more," said she, showing
Grace a china-basin that would contain a pint or so; "make
flowery-milk for breakfast, and when the breakfast things are
washed away, scald the evening's milk, and clean up the house."

Just as the precise dame had finished her instructions, the
master came in and said, "I think its high time for 'e to go
home, An' Prue, whilst there's daylight for 'e to find your way
across the water." "My room is more welcome than my
company," mumbled she, in hobbling out; "but we shall see
how they will get on without me to keep them to stays."

Grace told her master that she wasn't used to go to bed so
early; he answered, "please yourself on that score, and stay up
as long as you mind to." He then brought her a basket of fruit,
and told her to eat what she pleased of them ; afterwards, he
gave her a cup of cordial that she found delicious ; and by the
time she had drunk it to the last drop, she forgot her home and
playmates among the hills ; her brothers and sisters, her father
and mother even ; she no more remembered her former state,
and only thought of her kind master and the delightful place in
which he lived ; and she dreamt that night of nothing else.

In the morning Grace was up betimes ; finished her work in
a hour or so, and 'looked over her shoulder for more,' when
An' Prue came in, examined the house, and seeing nothing to
find fault with, she merely said, "A new broom sweeps clean,
but an old one es good for the corners," and told Grace she

TIME PASSES PLEASANTLY. 179

might work in the garden for an hour or so, till time to get
dinner, if she had a mind to, that her master was there and he
would show her what to do.

Prudence returned to her dwelling, where she kept a school ;
and Grace, glad to escape the old dame's piercing eyes, went
into the garden to look upon the more pleasing countenance of
her master, who said, "You have made a good beginning,
cheeld, only hold to it, and we shall get on very well ; come now
and help me weed a flower-bed, that I may show 'e what to pull
up and what to let grow." She weeded so handy and minded
her master's instructions so well, that he, to show his satisfaction,
when a bed was finished, clasped her in his arms and kissed her,
saying, "I can't tell 'e any other way how well pleased I am
at your handy work." She redoubled her efforts to please him
that he might again show his satisfaction.

Time passed so pleasantly in the beautiful garden — which
Grace thought must be like Paradise — that they forgot the
dinner hour, till the boy came home from school and ran out into
the garden, shouting, "Dadda ! Dadda ! I want my dinner ; An'
Prue always had it ready in time." "Run in my good girl,"
said his father ; " give him bread and honey with milk to drink,
or anything to stop his squalling, we can have apple-pie ; pick a
few of the ripest from yonder tree."

Having given Bob his dinner, Grace gathered such golden
apples as she never beheld till then, indeed, she thought them
too rich to cook, and that their perfume was enough to satisfy
one, for roses and gilly-flowers were less sweet to her seeming.

Dinner over and Bob sent to school, master and maid passed a
pleasant afternoon in the garden gathering fruit. Prudence,
having sent her scholars home, took a nap, for she had talked
herself sleepy over the horn-book. She soon waked up, however,
and hurried over to find that Grace had gone a milking, and
Robin was in a quillet (paddock), near by, grooming his horse.
Seeing all about the house in apple-pie order, she looked rather
sour, for the crabbed dame dearly liked to spy faults ; that's how
she was so much disliked by Grace ; so without a word to anyone
in the garden-dwelling, she tucked up her skirts and picked her
way back to her own house, mumbling, " It seems my room es
more welcome than my company, but we shall see how long they
will get on without my advice."

Grace found her new life so pleasant that she took no count of
time ; months passed like a summer's day; she never thought of
her old home or people, for all her care was to please her agree-
able master. Of a morning he frequently rode away through
the wood dressed like a gentleman going a hunting ; and Grace
took delight to keep his boots polished, and to buckle on his

180 THE FAIRY MASTER.

silver spurs that she might see him mount and ride away in
gallant style. Grace always wondered where her master got out
of the wood ; she had gone a long way on the road he took, but
saw no end of the winding, shady, alleys.

He always told her to be sure not to leave his grounds ; on no
account to venture outside the orchard gate during his absence ;
and, for her life, not to go near the high rock, for at its foot —
hidden by thickets — there was a low hole, from which Bucca-
dhus often issued, and carried away people who were nevermore
seen here. One afternoon, however, when Robin was away and
the boy at school, Grace felt weary of being so long alone or
with only the poultry — that followed her everywhere about the
place, — and went to the outer gate. On seeing a pleasant walk
winding along by the water-side, where all was shady and quiet,
she passed out and down the road till near the high rocks ; she
wondered whither the bowery path led ; thought she heard the
sea murmuring, and had a mind to go farther on, when all her
thoughts were put to flight by hearing a voice say, " Stop there,
my sweet pretty maid ; I'll soon be down by the river-side and
give thee a diamond ring." Looking up towards the place whence
the voice came, she saw, on the topmost stone, a dark man dressed
like a sailor, who then made signs for her to pass farther down
the road. Grace hastened in, followed by the screaming hens,
which roused the dogs, and their barking alarmed An' Prudence,
who hurried over, gave her a good scolding, threatened to tell
Eobin how, by her gadding about, she had narrowly escaped
being carried away. As Grace was still uneasy from fear, she
waited up for her master and made a pie ; he seemed well pleased
to have a hot one for his supper, and the girl to pull off his
boots ; seeing her disturbed, he asked what was the matter ; she
confessed her fault with tears, and promised never to disobey him
again. "I'll let it pass," said he, "as it's the first time you
have disobeyed; " and, to assure her of his forgiveness, he treated
her to a cordial that produced sweet sleep and pleasant dreams.

Grace finding her master well pleased that she had waited up
for him, continued to do so in spite of all An' Prudence told her.
"Now since thou hast again scorned my counsel, I'll leave thee
to thy devices," said she, one day; "as if Eobin wanted thee,
forsooth, to unbuckle his spurs or pull off his riding boots, and
to cook him a supper that he is better without."

Contrary to the austere dame's advice, Grace continued to take
her own way, and her master seemed pleased ; she wanted fur
nothing, yet she was always saying to herself, "Whatever can
be in that locked-up parlour and the chambers that I am for-
bidden to enter ? " At last, from always thinking about what
didn't at all concern her, the fool — she couldn't rest by night or

THE FORBIDDEN ROOM. 181

by day. One afternoon whilst An' Prue was cleaning up the
parlour, — not thinking Grace was near, — she suddenly went out
and left the door ajar; that instant the curious maiden peeped
in, and spying lots of rare pretty things, she stepped over the
drussel, and saw what she took to be conjuring implements, and
trembled to behold — on shelves, in cupboards, and elsewhere
about the room — men's heads, and heads and shoulders without
arms ; over the fire-place there were even whole bodies of small
ones, all turned to stone; they were whiter than corpses and
quite naked, like what she had heard of in old folks' stories as
being done by enchantment ; she didn't stay to notice much more
and was leaving the room backwards when the old dame, coming
behind, thumped her head and exclaimed, " Now thou perverse
strollop since thou hast entered the forbidden room to thy cost,
thou shalt work in it for a punishment ; so take the waxed cloth
and rub up that piece of furniture," continued she, in pointing
to a long dark chest, that looked to Grace like a coffin resting on
a table-frame, "Kub, rub away, rub harder and quicker till thou
canst see thy poking nose in it, and stop thy whimperan or I'll
crack thy numbscull." Grace burst out crying but still rubbed
away so hard that she lifted the article off its legs or its frame,
and, falling back with a jerk, something within it gave out a
doleful sound so like a dying groan that she, — thinking it must be
the voice of a spirit or of an enchanted body confined therein —
was overcome with fright and fell down in a fit.

Prudence fearing for the consequences, pulled her out by the
heels in great haste but not before Robin was informed, by a
wailing from the chest or coffin, that something had gone wrong
in his private apartment. When Grace came to her senses he said
to her, "Ignorant chit thou art become so fro ward as not to
regard Aunt Prudence in anything ; this is thy second act of dis-
obedience, for the third there's no forgiveness, and if thou any
more seekest to gratify thy troublesome curiosity against my
desire thou wilt have to get a new place, so beware."

After this it was many days ere Grace's master sang to her or
played with her again, as was his wont, and she redoubled her
efforts to please him and show her regret till he again kissed her
to prove that the past was forgiven.

A sight of the forbidden appartment, however, only served to
make Grace more dissatisfied because she couldn't understand
all the mysteries of the place and its inmates. She noticed that
the boy looked very knowing for one of his age, and thinking
that by means of the ointment he saw things invisible to her,
she resolved to try its effects ; and, one morning, when her
master had gone away, she took double the quantity used daily
for Bob's eyes and rubbed them on her own; it made them smart

182 THE FAIRY MASTER.

so much that she thought them to be turning inside out or
bursting from her head.

To ease their burning pain she ran down and washed them in the
pool. Looking into the water — a minute after — when her eyes
ceased smarting a little, she saw there, deep down, what looked
like another world with trees, birds, and people in great numbers ;
the people were so small that many of them perched themselves
on branches amongst the birds. Yet what surprised her most
was to see her master below moving from place to place among
them ; he was here, there, and everywhere. Being somewhat
frightened she left the pool and soon after, on looking around the
orchard, there, too, she saw small people and amongst them her
master dressed in his hunting-suit. " Now I know for sure that
this is an enchanted place," said she to herself, " my handsome
master must be a conjuror, and in spite of their fern-seed I shall
soon discover more."

Grace passed that day very uneasy and in the evening Robin
came home with several strange people bearing baskets of cakes
and other dainties such as she had never before seen ; these being
placed away Robin told her to put the boy to bed and that she
wasn't wanted below stairs any more for that night.

The dissatisfied maid went to bed but not to sleep, for in a
few hours she heard the ringing of cups and glasses with other
sounds which made it known to her that a banquet was being
held in the stone-people's apartment.

Over a while she heard singing and music there ; the entry
and staircase being dark she crept down, and peeping through
the partly open door, saw two smart gentlemen, besides her
master, and three ladies dressed in white trimmed with green.
In their ears, round their necks, and on their arms, the ladies wore
diamonds that shone like stars ; but most of her attention was
drawn to a fair haired one who sat beside the long box or coffin,
and, by thumping on it with both hands for dear life she made
the body or spirit within it give out finer music than a dozen
fiddlers all in a row could make with their fiddles playing
altogether, so she said.

From her dark corner she listened and watched till the music
ceased and the company rose to depart ; then, from her chamber
window, she spied Robin in the garden kiss the ladies all round,
on taking leave.

Grace cried herself asleep, but for why she couldn't tell.

In the morning she found the parlour door locked, and seeing
glasses, china, and other things, on the kitchen table, she
washed and placed them on their shelves, and did her morning
work ; when her master came in and, seeing all in order, said she
was a good girl, put his arm around her and was going to show

GRACE DISMISSED. 183

his satisfaction in his usual way. But she repulsed him saying,
" Go and kiss your little white and green ladies ; you shall touch
me no more ; for you arn't of common human kind, but a
changeling small-body that for nine years at a time can appear
as such ; yet with all your fern-seed none of 'e can deceive me
any longer by your enchantment and what not."

'' Hold thy foolish clack thou silly girl," said he, " thy head is
turned with old folks' drolls ; there's nothing uncommon here,
'tis only thy ignorance that makes thee think so. But I see," he
continued with a stern air, "that thou hast rubbed thy eyes with
the green ointment, and now as I find that nothing can lay thy
impertinent curiosity, or check thy prying into what don't
concern thee, we must part. Thy last year will be ended to-
morrow, so prepare at once to leave early in the morning, and I
will take thee behind me on horseback over the hills to the place
in which I found thee, for thou wilt never be able to find the
way back alone."

Seeing that all her promises of amendment were of no avail,
and that Robin and Prudence — who was now reinstated — de-
termined on her departure, Grace with much grief packed up her
fardel, and from what her master and old sour Prudence had
given her, from time to time, she had a good stock of clothing.
She didn't know what wages was due to her, poor fool, nor how
long she had lived there, for years had passed like a summer's
day, until she longed to know too much. She was almost heart
broken to leave the flowers that she loved like living things, the
poultry she had reared, the pigeons that nested over the wood-
corner ate from her hand and followed her over the place ; the
rabbits and hares that played about the garden and in the house ;
above all she grieved to part with a tame robin that kept in the
dwelling and sang whenever she entered it.

Besides it fretted her to find that old sour Prudence was
brought back to be mistress of Robin's gar den- dwelling.

The discreet dame, however, not knowing what might turn up,
took care to keep Chypons — as the place in which she resided
was called. She was very proud of her snug habitation, because,
a little below the earn, a foot-bridge crossed the stream close by
her house and nobody lived so near it as to interfere with her
wise management.

At daybreak she crossed the river and went on as her master
had directed her ; he soon, overtook her, and placing her on a
pillion behind him, they cantered away through dark lanes for
miles, going up hill all the time, and Robin spoke not a word.
Grace, blinded with tears, saw nothing of the road till they came
up into broad daylight and an open country. Still the horse went
like the wind, and in a few minutes she saw Carn Kenidjack.

184 THE FAIRY MASTEB.

Robin stopped his horse, sprung from his saddle, lifted Grace
down and placed her on the rock from which he had fetched her.
In answer to her entreaties to be taken home with him again, he
only said, "Prudence and I shall try to get on without other
help, yet if we can't I may come for 'e again." Grace mounted
the rock and looked after him as he rode away, but in a few
minutes he was out of sight. She lay on the heath and wept
till near night ere she arose, slowly descended the downs, and
reached her parents' dwelling.

The old folks were much surprised to behold her as they had
given her up for lost or dead long ago. Her mother, however,
in welcoming her home, lost no time before she opened her bundle,
and found enough good clothes to last a lifetime, and amongst them
a bag containing more money than they had ever seen before.

Grace's story seemed strange to all the neighbours, but most
of the elderly ones concluded from all she told them that one of
the changeling small people had taken her away to his under-
ground dwelling or intonis habitation in a wood — as such places
used to be their common haunts — and there she had lived with
him nine years that seemed less than one to her.

She could no more endure her old home — and, showind but little
regard for its inmates, loathed their homely fare and old fashioned
•ways. Neither could she make up her mind to work steadily as of
old, but like one distraught wandered away almost every day to the
rock where she had first and last seen Robin of the Cam. She
took but little pride in her fine clothes and money, and people
thought she would go mad or fret herself to death. Yet, in a
little less than two years, which seemed eternal to Grace, a neigh-
bour's wife died leaving several small children ; the widower
came a courting to the distracted maiden, and, pushed his suit
so vigorously, that at length she married him, and, as it
happened, her husband had no cause to regret his venture, for
the care of his children and plenty of work so far cured her
vagaries, that in a few years she almost forgot and little regretted
her life with Robin of the Carn.

Grace may be still living ; it is only a few years since we were
told her story, and then she was a hale old woman with a
numerous brood of grandchildren.

There is a similar story told in Zennor of one Cherry who left
home to seek service in the low country parishes, and was met
on Lady Downs by a fairy gentleman, a widower, who took her
to live with him ; all went well, till, from curiosity, she disobeyed
his orders and was discharged, but not until she had become so

OUK CORNISH LINGO. 185

much attached to her fairy master that she died with grief on
being taken back to her old home.

Though 'modern instances' make up these stories, we have
many old fragmentary fairy tales that contain the same fancies ;
the loss of happiness through inordinate curiosity.

A TINNER'S FIRESIDE STORIES.

THE KNOCKERS OF BALLOWAL.

Blest be that spot, where cheerful guests retire,
To pause from toil, and trim their evening fire.

GOLDSMITH.

FEW years ago, in talking with a Lelant miner
about the sprites that haunt many old mines, he told
us the following story, which we give in his own
words, as an example of West Country dialect.

We wish to correct an error that many persons,
not Cornish, entertain with regard to the language of Cornish
working people. Their mistake originates, in many instances,
from seeing in stories — misnamed Cornish, and for the most part
written by strangers to the country — such an uncouth jargon,
put into the mouths of West Country folks, which is no more
the common dialect of Cornwall than it is of Jericho. Our
English will bear comparison with that of any rural district,
and, in most cases, be found more correct, though somewhat
antiquated. Many of our' peculiar words, such as agricultural
or mining terms, a few names of plants, &c., are genuine old
Cornish.

" I know that strangers," said Uncle Bill, "and grand learned
folks like our passen, don't believe in the sperats we cale knack-
ers workan in the bals, and say that the noise, made by these old
ghosts of tinners, is caused by water oazan out of a lode and
clrippen into a pit ; as ef the water fallan from ever so high,
could sound like hammer and boryer, or pick and showl (shovel)

186 A TINNER'S FIRESIDE STORIES.

workan away. But, bless us, comrade, what can these strangers
that come here — to instruct us, forsooth'! — know about such
things ? Yet how they will talk about what they never heard of
before they came among us, and say it es all su-per-sti-tion !
Now that's a fine word, my dear, and I mean to use et on all
occasions ; like An' Betty Brea, up your way, who es twenty
times a day askan 'Do 'e knaw the sig-ni-fi-ca-tion ' of some
fiddle-stick's end, or other, that she may use her one grand word,
lately picked up from a local p/eacher.

"I've been minded lately of a story that was told me by an old
comrade — Uncle Tom Trevorrow, who's many years older than I
am. When I was a boy, workan at Trink Stamps, he was
married ; and he was then as fine a man as one would meet of a
long summer's day. If you'll have patience enow I'll tell 'e the
story of

TOM AND THE KNACKERS.

" Do let's have the droll, Uncle Bill," said I, and he related as
follows, —

" From the time Tom was old enow to handle a pick and showl he
had lived in Trecroben, and worked in Wheal Eeath, till twenty
years or so ago, when work fell slack here, and some bals were
knacked (stopped). Then he went to Santust (St. Just) to look
for a job and found work in Ballowal. Most people have heard
of that queer old bal, that was worked before The Flood, they
say. There the old men's works, weth their deep open coffans
(pits) may still be seen, jest as they left them, only wash'd and
run'd in a good deal one may suppose. That old bal, everybody
in Santust will tell 'e, have always been haunted with knackers.
And the burrows, in crofts and cleves around, are swarman with
them, and weth spriggans, wherever anything belongan to the
old bal was burred. There these sprites keep everlastan watch,
though all the old men's tools or treasures may be gone to rust,
earth, and dust. One don't often see them, 'tis true, but only
break ground near them and they'll show their ugly faces, as
many have known to their cost.

Tom and his eldest boy went over and worked a few weeks,
to see how they liked the place and people before removing his
wife and family. They liked the Santusters fust rate. They're
a capital set of red-tailed drones — only give them their own
way ; but you will soon find out that one must either fight or be
thorough friends with them ' one and all.' Tom took a house in
Letcha — handy by the bal. When his family were moved, he
and the boy worked together on tribute, and worked hard makan
double cores. When it came near pay-day, the boy, for want of
rest, gave out, and his father worked on alone.

GOBLINS OF THE MINE. 187

Tom had heard the knackers workan, away at a distance, all
the time he had been there, and took no notice of their noise,
but now that the boy- stopped home, they came nearer and nearer
every day, till he cud hardly hear the sound of his own tools
with the din and clatter of theirs. As far as he could judge by
the sound they were only two or three yards off, in the level
close behind him, carryen on all sorts of underground work. Some
appear' d to be wheelan, some showlan, others boran ; he could
even hear them swab out their holes, put in the tampan, and shut
(blast) like a pare (company) of regular tinners. Shuttan wasn't
in vogue in their time, but they've learnt et.

One night — I think et was only two or three before servey-
day — Tom got quite savage to hear their confoundan clatter,
with their squeakan and tee-hee-an in a mockan way, if he made
false strokes, or a clumsy blow ; and, being a devil-may-care sort
of fellow, he, without thinkan of anything, throwed back a
handful of small stones, towards the spot where they seemed to
be workan, and called out at the same time without stopan or
lookan up, ' Go to blazes, you cussed old Jews' sperrats ; or I'll
scat (knock) your brains out, I will, ef you arn't gone from here.'
The words were no sooner out of his mouth than a shower of
stones fell upon and around him, and frightened him most out of
his senses. Still, Tom resolved to work on till mornan, and, in
about an hour, when his candle was burnt down and he stopped
to light another, he sat down to eat the rest of his fuggan
and touch pipe a few minutes. Tom had all but finished his
supper, and bean hungry, could have eat more, when he heard
ever so many squeakan voices sing out, from away some fathoms
back in the level, —

" Tom Trevorrow ! Tom Trevorrow !
Leave some of thy fuggan for Bucca,
Or bad luck to thee, to-morrow ! "

Fust of all he cudn't well make out any words, but his own
name. He thought of the old sayan, ' What the fool thinketh,
that the bell clinketh.' He knew that sounds heard under-
ground often seemed to be words, like Buryan bells of a weddan
day ringan, ' Poor man, undone ! ' or ' Go thee ways't home with
ragget-tail Tone ! ' Then he tried again if they wern't as much
like some old rhymes that children sing, such as, —

" Billy Pengelley,

Got pain in his belly,

Eatan green slones for eupper ! "

But no, the devil a bit ; for the more and closer he listened the

188 A TINNER'S FIRESIDE STORIES.

plainer he heard the knackers, or some other sprites among them
singing the same. Only when he had eaten all there was a
slight change and they sung, —

" Tommy Trevorrow, Tommy Trevorrow !
We'll send thee bad luck to-morrow,
Thou old curmudgeon, to eat all thy fuggan,
And not leave a didjan for Bucca ! "

And so they kept on singan, squeakan, and tee-hee-an, in
going back in the end till they were out of hearan. Tom was
somewhat scared ; yet he felt so tired and drowsey that he could
sleep in a pullan (shallow pool). The poor fellow had worked
hard and been at it nearly all day and all night for the last week.
When he had smoked out his pipe he leant back, thinking to
take a doze for only a few minutes. But when he waked up all
was quiet. He rubbed his eyes, and, lookan away in an end,
where it was nearly dark, he seed scores of knackers restan on
their tools. They were miserable, little, old, withered, dried-up
creatures — the tallest of them no more than three foot six, or
thefe away, with shanks like drum-sticks, and their arms as long
or longer than their legs. They had big ugly heads, with grey
or red locks, squintan eyes, hook noses, and mouths from ear to
ear. The faces of many were very much like the grim visages
on old cloman jugs, so Tom said, and more like those of brutes
than Christians. One older and uglier than the rest — if possible
— seemed to take the lead in makan wry faces, and all sorts of
mockan tricks. When he put his thumb to his nose and squinted
at Tom, all those behind him did the same. Then all turned their
backs, stooped down, lolled out their tongues, and grinned at
him from between their spindle shanks. Tom was now much
scared. He noticed that his candle was burnt down to the clay,
and knew that he must have slept nearly two hours.

" Good Lord, deliver me," said he, risan to light another
candle ; and all the knackers vanished by the time he was well
on his legs. They seemed to melt away, one into another, changan
shapes like curlan smoke. Tom, feelan hisself very stiff, tired,
and cold, from havan slept so long, dressed and mounted the
ladders. He was hardly able to crawl to grass. In the black-
smith's shop, where he had stopped a few minutes to change
and warm hisself, he told other men who were there, putten on
their underground clothes, what he had seen and heard. The
old tinners told am that they warn't at all surprised, because the
levels he worked in were more infested with knackers than any
other part of the bal. 'Many a night,' said they, 'these
troublesome sperats have ben sen whiskan round the black-

THE SPRITES' BEVEJSGE. 189

smith's shop and gwean (going) down the Buckshaft, near by,
and that do enter the level thee'st work in. This shaft es so
called, because a black buck-goat, or a bucca in shape of an,
was seen to go down there, but never found below.'

The tinners, one and all, blamed Tom for havan anything to
do or say with the knackers in an unfriendly way, and told him
that as et was an old custom he might as well have left a bit of
bread on the ground for good luck.

When Tom got home he went to bed at once, that he might
have a good rest. His wife fed and nussed him well, with the
best she cud get for am to eat or drink, in high hopes that,
before many days were passed, they would take up more an
twenty pound for tin.

Tom dedn't say a word about the knackers to his wife nor
boy, for fear to scare them, nor dedn't think much more of the
buccas.

Next mornan Tom got up like a new one, fresh as a rose.
After a hearty breakfast, he and his son started for bal. Now it
happened to be Corpus Chris, and the boy was loath to go — he
wanted to be off to Penzance, with other youngsters, to see the
fun of the fair. " Come thee way'st along, my son," said Tom,
' I know thee art still tired, but cheer up a bit ; Midsummer's
day will soon be here ; then thee shust (shalt) have a shellan and,
ef we get a good sturt (start), two or three, to go to the games,
and, dash my buttons ; ef I too don't go down to Priest Cove,
and try a hitch at the wrestlan ! I could used to show as good
play, and throw as fair a fall, as any man of my size." And so
Tom ded — he would often show me and others how to give the
hugg, play with the back crook, and so furth.

I don't see for my part why wrestlan, hurlan, and other old
manlike games should be allowed to die out for a set of sports
more suitable for women than men, and I hold that wrestlan es
as good as boxen, and every man should know how to defend
hisself. One don't know what may turn up. 'Tes all stuff and
nonsense what old women say about the wickedness of such
sports. I'd rather see a boy of mine with black eyes and
bloody nose every day, than for am to run from one of his size.

Arrivan at the bal, first thing on entering the level, Tom
noticed that some of the temberan was bulged a great deal and
ready to give way. They put in new planks, and, as Tom
thought, made that all secure for the time. Whilst they were at
it he again heard the knackers workan away in the end, but
dedn't mind them. Then to get up some tin-stuff from below,
they went to work in the adit level, on the Buck lode, to secure
around and repair a winze (a small shaft with windlass) that
was nearly all run'd in. Whilst he put in new tembar, the boy

190 A TINNER'S FIEESIDE STORIES.

was kept at the winze-brace (windlass and tackle). When drivan
the lafts or boards, Tom plainly heard the knackers workan
against him ; he had to put in new tembar in the manner of
spillan. The ground seemed somewhat dangerous. The longer
he was workan the nearer the knackers were coman towards
him, until he saw the ground move before the lafts where the
sperats worked ; he then called to the boy, ' Pull me up, quick,
wind away for dear life, my son ! ' By the time he was got up to
the winze-braces, the ground began to tumble in. He had the rope
tied around his body. Eunnan back in the adit-level, he un-
wound it from the winze tree, and untied it from his waist.

Yet he came very near bean killed, for he hadn't got clear
of the rope five seconds before winze, rope, and all, went down
with the run. Tom, poor fellow, looked around dismayed, to
find fhat all his tin- stuff, which was put on the winze plat, with
tools and all, had gone down with the rest ; so he lost his tin
there and below. All his labour and time was gone for nothan.

He had to live many weeks on subsist (money advanced) and
went to another lode to work in an end to tut- work (piece-work),
and there, too, he was most put mad with the knackers — they
wed come into the level close behind, and go on with all kinds of
work, and nobody could have wes (worst) luck than followed am.
He went to look so wisht and felt so bad that he had to leave
Ballowal; for, go wherever he might about that old bal, the
knackers were for ever tormenting am, till they fairly drove 'n
away, and he came back to Lelant no better off than when he
left.

And here he had still bad luck doggan am for years. He
had to work to the farmers for a long spell, and, as we all know,
every tinner would just as soon go to the workhouse, or union;
and for my part I'd rather be tied to a bull's tail, and suffer the
rest, than do either one."

Having refilled his pipe, my old neighbour continued : —

"As many bals were then stopped, and a number of hands
discharged from others, all the time going from bad to worse,
Tom had to live, as he cud, by farm- work for three or four years.
He got all out of heart, to be all the time dung-dabban, and to
see his children as ragged as colts ; besides he had bad speed
many ways ; some said he was bewitched, and advised him to see
the pellar, who came round once a fortnight. Tom thought that no
use, because the conjuror won't ' good 'e,' as he do call it, unless
he's well paid. Tom's wife made a good bit of money by spinnan
and knittan. Unknown to her husband, she took her knittan-
work, and went over to the high road, one day, when the pellar,
in going his rounds, visited St. Ives. She hadn't ben long in
the lane before he came by.

THE TINNER'S EVENING PASTIME. 191

"I'm waitan to speak wh'y," said she; "but I'm afeard et
wan't be any use, because we'r very poor."

"I know," replied he, " that you have had a long run of bad
luck, and it will be all the harder now to turn it, but don't be
out of hopes ; I'll see Tom and do what I can for 'e. I see
you're a good knitster ; so you can make me a few pairs of warm
stockans for winter's wear."

The conjuror remained alone with Tom a good while, each
time he came round. What he did to ' good 'e ' esn't known,
because whatever' s done to hinder a run of bad luck, or to break
a spell of ill wishan, must be kept secret or no cure can be
effected. In two or three months, however, Tom's fortune had a
turn. Several youngsters left for America and made room for
other hands. Then Tom, to his great content, went to minan-
work again. In a short time, instead of looking as wisht, ragged,
and dirty as ' Billy-be-damned,' or ' Old Jy,' who lived in a hole
in a hedge, he and his family once more got decent meat and
clothan. The pellar had the credit of doing them good, whether
he deserved it or no ; at any rate his promises put them in better
heart, and that was some help. Tom's wife was overjoyed when
he went to minan again ; because she always took delight when
her good man came home from bal to hear him tell her and the
boys what he had done that core, and about his prospect of havan
lots of tin agen next pay-day. The lads were most interested
when Tom worked to tut-work, drivan an end, as you'll see.

An old boryer, hammer, gads, and other tools were kept
under the chimney-stool, that Tom might show them the plainer
what he'd ben doan. Now you must understand that Tom
believed hisself to be as good a miner as was to be found in
Cornwall. He would often brag that he cud break more ground
at the same cost than any other man in the bal. His mind was
always so occupied about his underground work that the form of
his end was always before him. And most every night, after
supper and whilst smokan his pipe, he wed work his core over
again with Betty, and she, to humour him, would begin with,
" Well, Tom, my son ; and what hast a ben doan to-day ? "

" What use for me to tell 'e ; I can never make thee under-
stand anything,' he'd say ; ' ' but look here boys ! " At the same time
he wud take the fire-hook, stick, or anything, and, quite pleased,
draw out the form of his end in the back of their old-fashioned,
open chimney, and all would be told to look on, say nothan, and
learn. When he had marked out, to his mind, how his end stood,
he would say to his wife,

" Now thee cust see the end es about square as a was this
mornan, take the boryer and show me where thee west go for a
hole."

192 A TINNER'S FIRESIDE STORIES.

" Well, I shud put down a hole there," she wed say, pointan
with the boryer in the most seemly place to her.

" Now gos't away, thou great Paddy ! I tell thee, Betty, thee
dosen't knaw any more about such work than a Buryan man !
Thee west never larn anything ! Give me the tools," he'd say,
and show them all, with pride sure nuf, how he'd stand and strike
the boryer in the different positions ground es subject to, and so
he wed keep on for hours.

One day above all, whan they lived in Santust, Tom came
home highly pleased, and told his people he had done a wonder-
ful core. After supper he lighted his pipe, as usual, took up the
fire-hook, and drawed the form of his end as he found it in
the mornan.

" Now, I bored a hole there," said he, pointan with his hook,
and gauv en plenty of powder, and a ripped am forth and back
like a boat-cove, and tore great rocks out of am as big as housen."

"Lor, Tom, hold thy tongue cheeld; I can hardly believe
thee," said Betty.

"Well, a es truth what I do tell thee. Then — now look at
this, Betty — I went there, for another hole," said he pointan,
" and it tord'n like mad, and left am as square as a chest, all but
a piece in the bottom. Then I went down there for a side-hole, and
that end now es as square as a door, I tell thee. And now, Betty,
the end es squared, where west thee go for the next hole ? Here,
take the tools to thee ; es thy turn to show one a bit now ; a es
hard ground, mind, none of your farmers' men can break that."

"Well, I shud put down a hole there," said she, placan the
hook in the most likly place. Then Tom, with a look and voice
of great contempt wed say, "I told thee there was no wale (seam)
there ; thee may'st shut (blast") away a ton of powder in that hole
and then a wedn't heav'n, a wed make a rouse (report) hard
enow to frighten away all the chalks (choughs) in Carn Glase,
and then a wedn't heav'n. I tell thee again, all of the powder
that went down in the Royal George wed be no good in that hole.
Thee must lev'n look down more— just so, or else a wed only be a
stand to waste powder in."

And so the simple contented household wed pass night after
night till bed-time.

But one evenan they nearly came to grief by Tom shuttan
his holes over again. He came home late in a terrible splutter,
sayan he had done a very bad core — he had shut a hole three
times, and a blowed away in a vug (crevice) each time.

" Et was a hole near the bottom, Jan," said he, takan the hook
as usual and havan drawn the position to his own satisfaction.

"But I shud think," said the boy, "that a was a hawful bad
place to come to strike et, faather."

ANOTHER CORNWALL IN THE FAB "WEST. 193

" Thou great noddy ! Doesna know that a good man can bore
a hole anywhere? Hold the hook there," said he, puttan it into
his hands, " and I'll show thee how to strike 'n."

Tom turned round, snatched up the hammer in a great hurry,
threw it back in order to make a stroke, knocked down Betty,
missed the hook, and nearly broke Jan's arm.

Betty, though on the floor, screamed to see the boy's white
face, and when she saw the blood running from his arm and felt
it on her own face she fainted. And Tom, seeing them both on
the floor, paced up and down calling out, when he tried to rise
them, "Oh my dear Betty and Jan; I'd rather shut the hole
twenty times over again than kill thee and the boy ; rise up do
'e, my dears."

They soon got round. The fright was worse than their hurt.

The way in which Tom and his wife amused themselves is not
singular among tinners, who, as a rule, take great pride in their
work, and pass hours showing their family or comrades how they
worked the last cores, and what they purpose to do next."

" Well, did Tom's good luck continue ? " I asked.

"Pretty steadfast; he and his sons had neighbours' fare,"
the old tinner replied. ' ' When his elder boys became men they
had pretty good sturts (start from a paying tribute), saved
money, and went to America, and they did so well over at
Mineral Point, Galena, or somewhere that way, that they sent
home enough to keep the old couple in comfort, and to bring
the younger boys out to them, where they, with hundreds
more from here about, are making another Cornwall for "one
and all."

OLD SONGS AXD NICKNAMES.

" One would like to know," said I to the old tinner, " whether
Tom heard the knackers sing what he believed he did; or if
there were any old ryhmes, somewhat similar, that he might,
long before, have learnt and forgotten till something brought
them to mind." " Never heard of any such," Bill replied. But
An' Mary — who knew a rare lot of queer sayings, odds and ends
of old songs and the like, — said, " In a story relating to small
people (fairies), that I often heard when a child, there are some
lines about leaving the buryans (crumbs) for Bucca." And one
would think the tribe of small folks always made their speeches
in ryhmes. When I was young, it was a custom in the harvest-
field, at croust (afternoon's refreshment), observed by most old
folks, to pour a few drops of their liquor on the ground for good

Q

194 A TINNER'S FIRESIDE STORIES.

luck ; and to cast a fragment of bread over their right shoulder
for the same reason. Fishermen, too, were in the habit of leaving
on the sand, at night, a fish for Bucca ; and they were also very
careful to feed and make much of their cats, to insure them good
luck in their fishing. If tinners in going to bal met with a
'bulhorn' (shell-snail) in their path, they always took care to
drop before it a crum from their dinner, or a bit of grease from
their candle for good luck.

Our talk about old rhymes reminds me that I have known
many people who become little better than fools, because of
childish verses and tunes constantly running in their numskulls ;
one would think that their seven senses were all stuck in their
ears. " Before I was tormented with Bill there," said she nodding
to her husband, " when I was sweet and twenty," as the old song
goes, I lived with farmers down westward ; in One place, my
fellow- servant was known by the nickname of Jenny Tweedles,
because she would be all day croanan over the song, —

" There was an old couple and they were poor,
Tweedle, Tweedle, go twee."

It was enough to make one crazy to hear her croanan, over and
over, a line here and there, with the burden brought in after
every one. I can see her old grim visage now as she maundered
about the kitchen, singing in doleful tones, —

" Oh ! I have been sick since you have been gone ;
If you'd been in the garden, you'd heard me groan.
Tweedle, tweedle, go twee."

You may fancy I would rather hear thunder by night than be
kept awake with her droaning in my ear, —

" Now I have a request to make unto thee,

Do pluck me an apple from the russet tree.

Tweedle, tweedle, go twee."

Worst of all she could never be trusted to do any work that
required attention, — if scalding milk, for instance, whilst she
was tweedlean, it would boil over, and the cream be in the ashes ;
if cooking, for the same reason, all the fat would be in the fire.

An' Mary paused, drew from her pocket a few lengths of yarn,
when her husband said, " Come, Mary, keep the kibbal gwean,
there's plenty of the same sort of stuff in thy bal." She con-
tinued her knitting and said, "There was a good mate for old
Jenny Tweedles that used to live in the same parish, who was
known by the name of Ky-me or Eigdom, because, when a boy,
he was just another such fool, and would neglect, or badly do, any

OLD HUSBANDRY. 195

work he was set about whilst whistling the tune, or singing the
words, of another old song, —

" There did a frog live in a well,
Close by a merry mouse in a mill,

To my rigdom, bomminare, ky-me,

Kyme-nare, gil-de-k,a-re,

Kyme-nare, Ky-me." &c., &c.

"I can match these nicknames," said I, "with another
instance of a grand one acquired from a song. But we must go
back more than a hundred years to the time when potatoes were
only grown as curious garden vegetables ; peas supplied their
place, and turnips, or other green crops, were unknown as
winter's provision for cattle. Farmers then held, for the most
part, freehold or leasehold tenements of from twenty to fifty
acres of arable and pasture ground, with, in many places, twice
that extent of uncultivated land or "outs" as we call it, which
furnished fuel and winter's run for cattle.

Between tilling-season and harvest there was little farm work
but to cut and carry furze and turf, and to save a little hay ; and
from the time that all was secure in the mowhay till seed-time
there were long intervals of leisure. The corn was threshed as
straw was wanted to be taken out to the downs or croft to keep the
half-starved cattle alive. Horses, even, were seldom housed, and as
there were no stall-fed beasts, little manure but ashes was made
which was carefully housed to keep it dry till wanted for dressing;
then it was carried in dung-pots to the ground, ploughed in, and
the crop quickly sown. After rough weather everybody was on
the alert watching for oarweed, which with sand constituted
almost the only other substances used for manure. Everything
had to be conveyed on horseback, — furze, hay, and corn in
trusses, sand in sacks, oarweed in. panniers or on crooks, slung
over pack-saddles.

The only wheel-carriages in use were wherries, and these were
drawn by horses in traces. A wherry was a square box, con-
taining about four wheelbarrows, mounted on three solid wheels,
such as we call druckshars. To empty this machine it was over-
turned, druckshars and all. Though there was little outdoor
work to be done for long spells, our old folks were seldom idle.
Hares, rabbits, and wild-fowl were plentiful on moors and the
great extent of uncultivated land, and hunting was pursued —
less as a pastime than a matter of necessity — to procure a little
change of diet, now and then, from the almost constant peas-
porridge, fish, and other salt provisions.

Women, old and young, passed much time in spinning, and
in almost every farm-house one found weaving-machines, as
we call hand-looms, so that when there was little else to do,

196 A TINNER'S FIRESIDE STORIES.

farmers, or some of their men, worked the treadles, and wove
the yarn into blanketing, or other household cloth. The surplus
of this serviceable material met with a ready sale in markets far
eastward. The home-made clothing was almost everlasting. I
knew a notable old farmer's wife who used, when bragging of
her husband's stock of clothes, to say, "Our Honey (Hanibal)
have got twelve coats, and only two of them biden clath"
(bought cloth). Sennen people were famous for being good
weavers, and those of Escols, in that parish, regarded themselves
as the best in the West Country. In this village there might have
been threescore inhabitants, including all ages, who were so
connected by inter-marriages, that few of them knew where or
how their relationship began or ended. The descendants of one
family who formerly lived there still retain the nickname of
"Triddles," from there forefathers having worked the treadles
as their chief employment.

Weavers were much given to singing at their work, to relieve
its tediousness; and an old weaving farmer, belonging to the
primitive community of Escols, acquired the nickname of uncle
Plato, because, whenever he was overtaken by a lazy stitch in
working his treadles, he would sing a rather solemn piece, —
one couldn't call it a song, — which thus began, —

" Said Plato, why should man be vain,

Since bounteous heaven has made him great ? "

The rest I don't remember ; its something about sceptred king's
and beggar's dust coming to the same pass. But he seldom
finished his favourite ditty ; for if his wife happened to be within
hearing, she would exclaim, "Peter! Peter! may the devil take
thee and Plato too. I can hear thee droanan that dreary thing
again, and the treadles gwean (going) lazier than with Billy, the
weaver, croanan over Aaron's beard and the ointment. Come
Peter vean, strike up —

" Thinking to lead a sober life,

One Monday morning I took a wife,"

or some other lively catch. I'll join in, and thee west make
three throws of the shuttle for one." Uncle Plato's family con-
tinued to be weavers of more than ordinary ability. Some of
them left Sennen, and established the first looms worked by
machinery in the old factory at Alverton, and acquired considerable
property in Penzance. Many of this family were also much given
to study ; one of them, a lady who lived in St. Levan — I don't
know her exact relationship to Plato — was remarkable for her
acquaintance with Greek and Latin authors, which she read in

BOOKS BEST KXOWN IN THE WEST. 197

their originals, and for her proficiency in astronomy and other
sciences.

Daring this lady's lifetime, however, her acquirements were
not regarded as anything so very extraordinary as they have
been recently ; for in those old times, and in that remote part,
there were many who would even now be considered good
scholars. The old folks of our great-grandfathers' days were
neither so ignorant nor so immoral as it is now the fashion
to represent them ; true, there were few sleek smoothies among
them, and they would be too rude and outspoken for our taste
perhaps.

Books, from their dearness, were comparatively scarce ; but
the few they had were read over and discussed around the
winter's hearth, where neighbours assembled in a social way
that is now not found in country villages.

The " Story of Troy-town," — as they called some old transla-
tion of the " Iliad," — almost everybody knew by heart. Hector
was such a favourite, that the best horse was called after him ;
and Penelope had, in most families, a namesake (Pee) to com-
memorate her constancy.

They had also the " Seven Wise Masters of Greece," '• Moore's
Almanack," "Kobinson Crusoe," — which everyone knew by
heart, and believed a true history, — and two or three herbals,
besides religious books, of which they made little account on the
whole. Culpepper was an especial favourite with elderly dames ;
stills being common, they experimented with his recipes, and
often compounded precious balsams that would operate famously
as evacuants. Many West Country gentlemen were practised
astrologers ; and in order to understand works that treated of
their favourite science, they must have acquired a knowledge of
Latin and mathematics.

We revert to our old country folks to remark that, for an
acquaintance with classic fables, and much other secular know-
ledge, they were beholden to the plain Welsh, or native, parsons
— then appointed to the western parishes who lived amongst,
and associated with, their flocks in an easy, comfortable way.
Yet the reverend gentlemen's familiarity and sympathy with
their parishioners' joys and griefs caused no diminution of
respect for their sacred office. For example the Eev. James
Bevan, from Glamorganshire, who was more than forty years
curate of Sennen and St. Levan, was always spoken of, by the
few old people who remembered him, with affection and respect.
This gentleman resided in Trengothal ; and so far was he from
discountenancing wrestling, throwing quoits, and other manly
recreations of the time, that he and his family, with many
principal persons of the neighbourhood, always attended at

198 A TINNER'S FIRESIDE STORIES.

holiday games, on Penberth Green, where they danced with rich
and poor, and their presence enforced decorum, and made our
rural sports respectable.

Another usage — probably handed down from Catholic times —
was then common. Prizes won at wrestling, or any other manly
games, were either worn to church or suspended within it to a
pillar near the door, on the following Sunday. This custom was
particularly observed when the victory was obtained in another
parish. I have often heard one who when young was a noted
wrestler, and for many years champion of his parish, speak of the
satisfaction with which he used to hang up a pair of spurs,
gloves, yards of ribbon, lace, or whatever it might be, as a
trophy in honour of old St. Levan.

A short time ago, it was usual for the winners of gold-laced
hats to display them at Church, though the wearers — often
gentlemen farmers' sons — looked for all the world like livery
servants. "Many customs of no more than fifty years ago,"
said the old tinner, "would be regarded as strange now. One
thing that I have just thought of, that stories which have been
related by romancers, and are still repeated by others in books,
about the savagery of old Cornish wreckers and smugglers, is
vile slander. Who, I wonder, would have more right to dead
wreck than the salvers ; and success say I to the fair trade."

The old tinner was now mounted on his favourite hobby, and
as his stories about smuggling were interminable, I wished him
good-night.

AN EXCURSION TO CHAPEL UNY WELL,
WITH A LEGEND OF THE CHANGELING OF BBEA VEAN.

These, when a child haps to be got,

That after proves an idiot,

When folks perceive it thriveth not,

The fault therein to smother,
Some silly, doating, brainless calf,
That understands things by the half,
Says that the fairy left this aulf,

And took away the other.

DRAYTON.

jHOUQ-H the numerous visitors who resort to Penzance
in autumn are rarely satiated with our fine cliff
scenery, they might, with pleasure, vary their ex-
cursions "by a ramble inland, where various objects
of interest are found on moorlands and hills, but
seldom visited.

A pleasant day, for example, might be passed by first going
to Sancreed ; where, in the quiet, neat, little, embowerd Church
some curiously carved portions of an ancient rood-screen are
worthy of notice. In the churchyard there is one of the finest
crosses in the county ; it is about eight feet high and ornamented
with various emblematic devices, among others, the lilly of the
Blessed Virgin. The old Inn, with its quaint sign " The Bird in
Hand," suggestive of ready payment, was worthy of a glance, a
few years ago, when some nondescript fowl of the air, trying to
escape from a hand that grasped its legs, was pourtrayed on the
sign-board in flaming colours by a local artist, and, underneath
the captive bird, were the lines, —

" A bird in hand is better fare
Than two that in the bushes are."

From the south-eastern side of " Sancras Bickan" (Beacon) a-
delightful view of Mount's Bay is obtained, and on Caer Brane
— commonly called Brane Rings — the next hill towards the west,
may be seen the remains of an old and extensive hill-castle.

200 THE CHANGELING OF BEEA VEAN.

Hence, one might descend to the famous Chapel Uny Well,
situated between Chapel Carn Brea and Bartine hills ; the one
crowned with its ruined chapel and the other with a castle. At
Chapel Uny will be found a copious spring of as clear water as
was ever seen. The only remains that can be identified, as
having belonged to its ancient chapel, are a few dressed stones
near the well. These, from their shape, would seem to have
formed part of an arched door or window.

Near by there is also a large circular Fogou, or artificial cavern,
walled on both sides and partly covered with long slabs of moor-
stone. The Holy Well is, however, the most celebrated object
in this vicinity ; a few years ago, it was resorted to on the first
three Wednesdays in May by scores of persons who had great
faith in the virtue of its waters, which were considered very
efficacious for curing most diseases incidental to childhood, and
many ricketty babes are still bathed there at the stated times
when the spring is believed to possess the most healing powers.

Belonging to this well and its neighbourhood there is a some-
what curious story, which we will relate just as it has often been
told us by old people of the West Country.

THE CHANGELING OF BEEA VEAN.

A hundred years or more ago — one afternoon in harvest time
— a woman called Jenny Trayer, who lived in Brea Vean (a little
out-of-the-way place at the foot of Chapel Carn Brea) gave her
baby suck, rocked it to sleep, then covered up the fire, turned
down the brandis, placed fire-hook and furze-prong across the
hearth for good luck, and, leaving the child alone, away she
hastened over to Brea to "help cut the neck." It was nearly
dark when the last handful of wheat, called " the neck," was
tied up and cut by the reapers throwing their reap-hooks at it.
Then it took a good bit longer to cry the neck according to the
old custom of the harvest-hands dividing themselves into three
bands — one party calling, three times, as loud as they could cry,
" We have it, we have it, we have it ! " The second demanding,
' ' What have ye ? What have ye ? What have ye ? And the
third replying, " A neck ! a neck ! a neck ! " Then all join, hats
in hand, in a " Hip ! hip ! hip ! Hurrah ! "

The neck was then decorated with flowers and hung over the
board.

Jenny, thinking about her babe all alone, didn't stop for the
neck-cutting carouse, but got a good drink of beer, and her
neck-cake, to take home ; and hastened away. When she opened
her door, she saw, by the moonlight, that the cradle was over-

TBEDRELL'S WIFE HAILS HIM. 201

turned. Straw and rags were on the floor, but no child was
in sight.

Jenny groped round the room a long time ; then, not finding
any live embers among the ashes, she took the tinder-box and
struck a light. ''The more haste the worst speed." It was a
long time before she got the porvan (rush-wick) lit in the chill
(iron lamp). In searching all the holes and corners, she came to
the wood-corner and there among turves, ferns, and furze, she
found the " cheeld," fast asleep. Being very tired, she took up
the child and went to bed. Next morning, when she looked at
the babe by daylight, it seemed to her that there was something
strange about it — she didn't know what — it was hearty enow,
for it seemed never satisfied unless it was all the time sucking
or eating ; it would roar like a bull if it hadn't its will ; and
always wanted to be in her arms or eating pap.

The poor woman couldn't do her " chars," and had no rest of
her life with the squalling, hungry brat. Tet, with all its suck-
ing and eating, it seemed wasting to skin and bone. So it kept on
all the winter — the more it ate the leaner it became. Many of
the neighbours shook their heads when they saw it, and said they
feared the " small people " had played her a trick that afternoon
when she went to " neck-cutting." " Whether or no," said they,
"you can do nothing better, Jenny, than to bathe it in the
Chapel Well as soon as May comes round."

Accordingly, the first Wednesday in May she took it on her
back and trudged away to Chapel Uny Well.

Three times she put it through the water from west to east,
then dragged it three times round the well against the sun.
Whether the bath made it any better or not she couldn't tell in
one week. The following Wednesday, however, the troublesome
creature seemed to expect the jaunt, and to enjoy it as it rode
away on her shoulder over hill and moor to the spring, where it
had the same ducking again. The third Wednesday was a wet
day ; yet, not to spoil the spell, Jenny took the brat, placed it
astride on her shoulder, held one foot in her hand, whilst he
grasped her hair to keep himself steady, as they beat over the
moors against wind and rain. The thing seemed to enjoy the
storm, and crowed, like a cock, when the wind roared the
loudest.

They had nearly passed round Chapel Cam Brea and were
coming by some large rocks, near the open moor, when she
heard a shrill voice, seemingly above her head, call out, —

" Tredrill ! Tredrill !

Thy wife and children greet thee well."

Jenny was surprised to hear the shrill voice and nobody in

202 THE CHANGELING OF BKEA VEAN.

sight. When she stopped an instant to look round, the thing
on her shoulder cried out in a voice as shrill and loud, —

" What care I for wife or child,

When I ride on Dowdy's back to the Chapel Well,

And have got pap my fill ? "

Frightened out of her senses, to hear the miserable little object
talk like a man about his wife and his child, the poor woman
cast it on the ground and there it lay sprawling, until she took
courage, threw it across her shoulder, and ran back as fast as she
could lay feet to ground till she came to Brea town. She stopped
before some houses a little below Brea mansion, threw down the
thing, that clung to her neck for dear life, on to a dung-heap
beside the road.

The women of Brea all ran out to see what could be the
matter. As soon as she recovered her breath she told them what
she had heard. "Ah," exclaimed one, " didn't I tell thee,
months ago, that thee wert nussan a small body's brat, ever
since the neck-cuttan night, when thy child was spirited away,
and that thing left in his place."

" Shure enow," said another, "anybody of common sense
might see that. Only look at the thing there, sprawling upon
his back in the mud. Did one ever see a Christian cheeld like
that, with his goggle eyes, squinting one way ; his ugly mouth
drawn another, and his pinched-up nose all a- wry too?"

"And now, Jenny," broke in the oldest crone, " 'Tis lucky for
'e that I can tell 'e what you must do to get rid of this unlucky
bucca, and get back thy own dear cheeld. Now there's an old
way, and I don't know but it es the best ; and that es to put the
smale body upon the ashes' pile and beat it well with a broom ; then
lay it naked under a church-way stile ; there leave et, and keep
out of sight and hearan till the turn of night ; and, nine times
out of ten, the thing will be took off and the stolen cheeld put
in his place. There's another plan but I never seed et tried — to
make by night a smoky fire, with green ferns and dry. When
the chimney and house are full of smoke as one can bear,
throw the changeling on the hearth-stone ; go out of the house ;
turn three times round ; when one enters the right cheeld will be
restored."

The women of Brea — resolved to try what a beating on the
ashes' pile would do towards getting rid of the goblin — threw it
on a heap near at hand and commenced belabouring it with their
brooms. But they had scarcely touched it than it set up such a
roar that it was heard in Brea mansion ; and Dame Ellis came
running down the town-place to see what could be the matter.
She asked what they were beating in that cruel way. Being

DAME ELLIS'S ADVICE. 203

nearly dark and the wet ashes sticking to the creature she
couldn't tell what gave out such a doleful noise.

"Why mistress," says Jenny, "that thing there on the ashes'
pile es what was left in our house, when niy dear cheeld was
spirited away, by smale people, while I was reapan in your field
the very day we cut the neck. All the neighbours know the
trouble I've had ever since— how this thing that looked like my
cheeld have ben all the time screechan, suckan, or eatan, and
have never grown a bit, nor will make any use of his legs."

" But thats nothan," said she, recovering her breath, "to what
happened a few hours ago, and most frightened me out of my
senses. You mayn't believe at — that when, on my way to Chapel
Uny Well, with that thing astride on my shoulder, somebody
that couldn't be seen by mortal eyes cried out, " Tredril, Tredril,
thy wife and children greet thee well!" Then, in an instant,
good lack, that thing from my back replied, ' That little cared he
for wife or child when he rode on Dowdy's back (meaning me)
to the Chapel Well, and had good pap his fill.' Nobody can tell
the fright I was in, to hear that thing talk like a man about his
wife and child."

Dame Ellis, lifting the creature from the ashes' heap, said to
Jenny, " I believe that thou wert either drunk or in a waking
dream when passing round the hill, and that this child, used so ill,
is as truly thine as any thou hast born. Now take it home, wash
it well, feed it regular, and don't thee leave it all day lying in
its cradle ; and, if thee canst not make it thrive, send for Dr.
Madron."

Jenny and the other women at first refused to comply with
Dame Ellis' s advice ; told her that she knew next to nothing
about such matters, and related many things to prove that the
creature was no mortal's child, till the lady tired with their
stories, turned to go in, saying to Jenny,

"My husband shall come out and talk to thee; peradventure
he may convince thee of thy error."

Squire Ellis and his wife being quakers— a sect then but little
known in the West — they were thought by Brea women, and
many others, to be no better than unbelieving Pagans, "who
haven't the grace," said they, "to know anything about such
creatures as spriggans, piskies, knackers (knockers of the mines)
and other small folks, good or bad, that haunt our earns, moors,
and mines ; who can vanish or make themselves visible when and
how they please, as all more enlightened folks know."

They well knew, however, what concerned them more — that
Squire Ellis was their landlord, and that, quiet and quaker-like
as he and his wife were in their talk, and demure in their looks,
they were not to be trifled with ; and that their will was law for

204 THE CHANGELING OF BREA VEAN.

all living on their estate unless they could contrive to deceive
them.

Squire Ellis came down and, finding that Jenny (with her
bantling and all the others) were gone into a house, where he
heard them loudly talking, he had nothing to say to them;
perhaps, he kept an eye on their proceedings.

Brea women, in spite of "unbelieving quakers," as they
called Squire Ellis and his wife, among themselves — determined
to have their own way — waited till all was dark in the great
house ; then Jenny, with the bantling or spriggan, and another
woman, who was very knowing about changelings, passed quietly
up Brea town-place, and under a stile on the Church-way path
crossing a field from Brea lane, they left the creature (then
asleep) that had been such a plague to them.

Jenny returned to Brea Yean, and there stayed till morning.
Being fatigued and worried she overslept herself, for it was
nearly daybreak when she awoke and hurried away, between
hopes and fears, to the stile ; and there, sure enough, she found
her own "dear cheeld," sleeping on some dry straw. The
infant was as clean, from head to foot, as water could make it,
and wrapped up in a piece of old gay-flowered chintz ; which
small folks often covet and steal from furze-bushes, when it is
placed there in the sun to dry.

Jenny nursed her recovered child with great care, but there
was always something queer about it, as there always is about
one that has been in the fairies' power — if only for a few days.
It was constantly ailing and complaining, and, as soon as it was
able to toddle, it would wander far away to all sorts of out-of-the-
way places. The good lady of Brea often came to see it and
brought it many nice things that its mother couldn't afford to
buy, and when he was about nine years of age Squire Ellis
took the changeling (as he was always called) into his service,
but he was found to be such a poor simple innocent that he
could never be trusted to work in the fields alone, much less
with cattle ; as a whim would take him, every now and then,
to leave his work and wander away over hills and moors for
days together. Yet he was found useful for attending to rearing
cattle and sheep — then kept in great numbers on the unenclosed
grounds of Brea. He was so careful of his master's flock in
lambing time that there was seldom any lost. Forsaken or
weakly lambs were often given to him by the neighbours, and he
contrived to rear them so well that, in a few years, he had a
good flock of his own that Squire Ellis and everyone else
allowed him to pasture wherever he and his sheep choose to
wander — everybody knew the poor changeling and made him
welcome. When he grew to man's estate, however, he became

A ' COTTRSEYING ' WOMAN. 205

subject to fits, and had to remain at home with his mother great
part of his time.

Yet, when the fits were over, nothing could restrain his
propensity for wandering, and his sheep, goats, and even calves,
always followed, and seemed equally to enjoy their rambles.
He often talked to himself, and many believed that he was then
holding converse with some of the fairy tribe, only visible to
him, who enticed him to ramble among the earns, hills, and
moors — their usual haunts.

When about thirty years of age he was missed for several
days ; and his flock had been noticed, staying longer than usual
near the same place, on a moor between the Chapel Hill and
Bartinne, and there — surrounded by his sheep — he was found,
lying on a quantity of rushes which he had pulled and collected
for making sheep-spans.

He lay, with his arm under his head, apparently in sweet
sleep, but the poor changeling of Brea was dead.

BETTY STOGS'S BABY.

ITTLE more than twenty years ago, there lived in
a lonely cot on a moor in Towednack a man and his
wife with one child. The woman — from her slatternly
habits — was known by the name of Betty Stogs ;
she had been married about a year and had a baby
six months old or so ; when, almost every day, whilst her
husband was away ' to bal,' she would pass best part of the time
' courseying' from house to house in the nearest village.

The child would mostly be left in the house alone or with
nothing but the cat for company. One seldom saw the colour of
the bantling's skin for dirt. When anyone asked Betty why
she didn't wash it oftener, "The moor es a cold place," she'd
reply, " and a good layer of dirt will help keep 'n hot."

One afternoon about Midsummer she went to get milk for the
child and stayed away gossiping till dusk ; it was so dark when
she entered her dwelling that she could scarcely see anything
within if.

She went to the cradle and found it empty ; the child was no-
where to be seen ; nor yet the cat that always slept with it,

R

206 BETTY STOGS'S BABY.

shared its pap, and cleaned the skillet in which the ' child' s-
meat,' was cooked. Whilst Betty was searching about the house
her husband came home from work — last core by day, — he was
in a great rage with his wife and greater grief for the loss of his
' crume of a cheeld,' as he called it.

After hours spent in fruitless search Betty sat down and cried
bitterly, whilst the father went away and told the neighbours
what had happened.

Everybody turned out to look for the child; they examined
moors and crofts for a good distance round till after daybreak
without seeing sight or sign of it ; but, when it was near sun-
rise, Betty spied the cat coming towards her, then it went back
mewling into a brake of furze. She followed it and came to a
plot of mossy grass, surrounded by thickets and ferns, where she
saw, amongst heath and wortleberry plants, a bundle of old-
fashioned chintz ; she opened it and there was her child, sleeping
like a nut. It was wrapped in several gay old gowns, with
mint, balm, and all sorts of sweet herbs and flowers that are
found on moors or in gardens ; but otherwise it was as naked as
when born, yet clean and sweet as a rose.

All the old folks said it was carried there by small-people,
who intended to bear it away to the hills or earns ; but it took
them so long to clean it first that daylight surprised them ere
they had done it to their mind ; so they left it there meaning to
fetch it the next night.

The fright, however, that Betty had undergone, did her good
and the child too, for she passed less time in courseying, and took
more care of her babe for fear it might be stolen again. She
made lots of frocks for it out of the old chintz ; and it throve so
well after the small folks' cleansing that he made as stout a man
as his dad, who was usually called Jan the Maunster (monster)
from his bulky form.

How A MORVAH MAN BOUGHT CLOTHES FOR HIS WIFE.

Contented toil, and hospitable care,

And kind connubial tenderness are there."

GOLDSMITH.

\ OST of the dwellers in the cottages scattered over
the hills to the north of Penzance (like the tinners
of old) work in the mines and cultivate a few acres
'out of core.' They are also remarkable for
preserving many old customs which are become
extinct in less remote and more populous districts, as well as for
the quaint simplicity of their manners and language. A few
weeks ago a tall, middle-aged man entered a draper's shop in
Penzance. His blue smock-frock, corduroy trousers, ruddy with
tin stuff, and the high-poled Sunday's hat, marked him for a
high-country tinner. He paused in the middle of the shop and
looked around as if to select some particular one of the assistants
to serve him ; then going over to the counter, where the fore-
woman was standing, he placed three little packets of money,
done up in paper, before her.

"Look-e here, my dear," says he, "here's three packats of
money for three things I want of 'e. Fust of all les have some-
than to make a sheffc for my old oman — dowlas or calico, you
know the sort of stuff, and how much will do ; for my old oman
es of a tidy built and shaped much like you. (The blushes and
titterings among the shop girls may be imagined). She told me
how much, but I have forgot, only that a must cost ten-pence a
yard ; so cut off as much as will make a sheft for yourself, my
dear, and see if you don't find the exact money for 'n in that
paper, tied up with tape."

The paper opened, the money was found right to a farthing.
"Now, my dear, that's all right. Get some sort of stuff, made
of sheep's clothing, I don't know what you call 'n, for to make an
undercoat for the old oman. You know how much will do by
your own measure ; a must be two shellans a yard, and there's
the money for 'n in that paper tied up with white yarn."

208 A MORVAH MAN BUYING CLOTHES.

To make sure of the quantity wanted, the shop woman
counted the cash sent, before she cut the required length of san-
ford. When that was adjusted,

"Now, my dear," says he, "we are getting on cappetal, sure
nuf. Next let's have a pound of blue or black wostard — must
be four shellans a pound and plum (soft) like yarn ; there can be
no mistake about that, and there es the money in the paper tied
with black yarn. Now, over all these, I spose you will give me
a nackan (handkerchief) for myself, waan't 'e, my darlan?"

The master of the establishment, who had been rather amused
at the scene, though it was nothing new to him, left the desk
and desired the shop woman to open some of good quality and
neat patterns, for him to choose from.

"Why, Mr. , my dear, havn't 'e any smarter ones than

these in your shop than ? "

Some old-fashioned ones, of a gay pattern, were soon found,

which pleased the customer exactly. Mr. gave the tinner a

glass of wine besides, and asked him how he liked it ?

" Well, I can't say but a wed be pure keenly stuff with a glass
of gin or brandy to warm un a little.

The master replied that he had no spirit in the shop, but gave
his customer sixpence to buy a dram to warm the wine, on the
way home.

" God bless 'e," says our Morvah man, slapping Mr. on

the shoulder, " but you are one of the right sort, and when my
old oman do want a smock again I'll come and buy 'n for her,
I don't wender now that all the women like to go to your shop,
and that young woman there is pure block tin. But I spose, my
dear," says he, turning towards the one he compared to pure
tin, "you think me an old Molly-caudle, don't 'e, for coman
here to buy the dudds for the old oman home ? But ' force put
es no choice,' my dear. I'll tell 'e a minute how she esn't here
herself. This mornan, when I was takan breakfast to go to bal,
Jenny took off a crock of petates from the brandes, that she
had, to save time, boiled for the pig along-side of the tea-kettle
for my breakfast. She must always be doan two or three jobs
together like the milkmaid before now. She took the crock of
petates out in the court to empty away the waater, and a minute
before she had put a tub of calves'-meat to cool on the caunce,
and the cheeld, accordan to custom, was trying to get at 'n to
splash and play in the milk. The cheeld todlan round the tub,
tumbled in souce, head down, Jenny left the cover slip from the
crock in her fright, and out came the boilan waater and petates
all over her foot.

"Then she cried, 'Come thee way'st out here Billy and take
the cheeld out of the calves' -tub ; see what I've done, and a es

A HANDY HAT. 209

all thy fault ; why disna (dids't thou not) keep the cheeld out of
the way ? ' Ah was no good to say anything to her, my dear,
because all the women, except you, will lay the blame on
somebody else, for the foolish things they do. I dragged the
cheeld out of the milk, left the dog to lick 'n clean, and dipped
Jenny's foot in a bucket of waater. The pigs got at the crock
and made some screechan when the hot petates burnt their
throats. Next I put my old oman on the bed and pulled off her
stockan with as much care as ef I'd ben peelan a petate. Then,
by her direction, put a linan rag, spread with raw cream, all
over the scald, and, without clunkan a bit more breakfast, got
ready in a jiffy to run in to the doctor for a plaster, and salve,
and things, and to know what was best to do.

" 'Billy,' says she, 'as sure es I'm alive, I shall be laid up
for weeks, and thee west have to do the work indoors and out,
but I can never put away the time do an nothan. Put on thy
best hat and blue coat, thy old clothes make thee look foolish

in town, and go in to Mr. 's shop ; mind what I do tell thee.

I've been savan money these weeks past to buy some under-
clothing for winter, the next time I did go to town, and there a
all es in the skibbat of the chest, in three pieces of papar, the
money that each thing will come to.'

" Then she told me all about the price and number of yards,
that I kept repeatan to myself all the way in till I come to the
doctor's shop and there I forgot all about et. But she told me I
should find a nice motherly oman in this shop just her size, and
that's you my dear, who would tell me what to do ef I forgot.
Jenny wanted to have something to do while her foot was
healan. I told her I didn't much like to go to shop to buy her
smock and undercoat ; she could ask the nearest neighbour's
wife to do et for her. 'No, the devil a bit,' says she, 'that I
waan't ! Ask Honney's boy Tom's wife, to buy the things for
me ! I'll go without a sheft fust, for she will go to meetan
somewhere or other every night for a week that she may tell the
rest of them what my things cost (and oh ! the lies they will tell
about et among them) ; besides, we shall have the house full
all the time with them, makan out they are come to see how I
am. Take the cheeld along weth thee down to An' Nancy
Trembaa's; leave 'n there; and ask her to step up to milkey
and do the rest of the mornan work for me.' When I left the
cheeld down to An' Nancy's, and told her what had happened,
away she went, wethout stopan so much as to put her hat on, up
to keep things to rights while I'm wantan.

" Well, soas, I've done the best I could. I've got the plaster
and salve in the head of my hat, with a fuggan Jenny made me
take to eat on the road. A high bell-topper es as handy as a

210 HOW A ZENNOR MAN CHOKED HIMSELF.

basket to stow away the lumber in ; dash me ef a esn't. None
of your low billycocks for me.

"Now I wish 'e all well, my dears, and ef you will come up
to see us one Sunday afternoon you shall be as welcome ' ONE
AND ALL,' as ef you had been my own sisters. God bless 'e all;
I shall be tother side of Ding Dong in less than an hour."

Neither the master nor the shop assistants saw anything to
laugh at when the tinner had told his simple story. On the
contrary they felt much interested, as his ' old oman ' was a
well-known customer.

How A ZENNOR MAN CHOKED HIMSELF, BUT HAD HIS WILL
IN HIS POCKET.

•OT long ago a high-country farmer, after having
finished his marketing, in Penzance, treated himself
to a supper at a cook-shop in Caunse-head. Being
»>s in great hunger, or haste, he thought it waste of
^ time to cut his meat into smaller pieces than he
could possibly swallow ; besides, solid junks would stand by his
ribs and do the more good.

He made but two morsels of a quarter of a pound of beef ;
and in bolting the last it stuck in his throat. In an instant he
went blue in the face and fell on the floor. The landlord ran for
a surgeon, and by good luck found one at home, the other side
of the street. "Stand clear a bit, and open the man's trap,"
said the doctor. "With much trouble the Zennor man's jaws were
forced open, and the doctor feeling a portion of the meat pulled
out a piece about six inches long.

The patient was soon restored and ready for another such
meal.

Then a lawyer's clerk, who had just entered, remarked; —
" Why, old boy, you ought to make your will and keep it by ye
before sit down to eat beef again." "Why bless 'e so I have.

A ZENNOR MAN'S WILL. 211

I always keep my will in my pocket, and you shall see am ef
you mind to. I made 'n myself — no lawyers for me. Here a
es." Saying this he drew from his pocket a sheet of paper, and
gave it to the doctor, telling him he might keep it, if he had a
mind to see how to make a will. He intended to make another
the next Sunday, because he had more things to bequeath now
than when he made the testament, of which the following is a
faithful copy : —

' ' I'll make my will while I am well. I will bestow my riches.
I'll give to Ellek,* my eldest son, my best Coat, Jacket, and my
Breeches. As for my watch et es in pawn ; else Elexander should
have that. Neckey shall have the courage Horse, and Jan the
little Sprat. Mary shall have the milking Cow, and Lystria
shall have the Heifer. Fillis shall have the flock of Sheep, and
wat can I do better? Old Polly shall have the Pussf of goold,
and that will most maintain her. Sally shall have the old brass
Pan, the Bucket, and the Strainer.

" Signed, sealed, and delivered, in the presence of

" COUSIN MATTHEW HOLLOW,
"UNCLE PHILIP EDDY, and
"JoHN QUICK, the Schoolmaster."

* Alexander. f Purse.

According to our intended arrangement the three foregoing, stories should
have preceded those of St. Just.

THE SMUGGLERS OF PENROSE.

Part the First.

In winter's tedious nights, sit by the fire

With good old folkes ; and let them tell thee tales

Of woful ages, long ago betid.

KINO RICHARD IE.

remains of the old mansion of Penrose, in
Sennen, stands on a low and lonely site at the
head of a narrow valley ; through which a mill-
brook winds, with many abrupt turns, for about
three miles, thence to Penberth Cove. So late as
forty years ago, it was one of those antique, mysterious looking
buildings, which most persons regard with a degree of interest
that no modern structure inspires ; the upper story only — with
its mullioned windows, pointed gables, and massive chimney-
stacks — was just seen over the ivey-covered walls of courts and
gardens that surrounded it.

There was, however, a certain gloomy air about the ruinous
walls and neglected gardens embowered in aged trees, which
might have conduced to such unaccountable stories of apparitions
and other unnatural occurrences, as were said to have taken place
there.

Some three or four centuries ago, it was the property and
residence of an ancient family of the same name ; little more is
known of these old Penroses than what can be gathered from
wild traditions related by the winter's hearth. The following
among many others were often recounted by old folks of the
West.

About three hundred years ago, the owner of Penrose was a
younger son who had been brought up to a seafaring life, which
he continued to follow till his elder brothers died unmarried and
left him heir to the family estate ; then, preferring a life on the
wave, he kept a well-armed, fast-sailing, craft for fair-trading,
or what is now called smuggling ; she was manned with as brave
a crew as could be picked out of the West Country ; most of them
are said to have been the Squire's poor relations. A favourite
cousin, called William Penrose — who had been his shipmate for
years — was captain of the merry men all.

The Squire often took trips to France and other places, whence

JAN OF PENEO8E. 213

his goods were brought, and it is said that in his days Penrose
crew were never concerned in any piratical jobs; though we
know that about that time smuggler, privateer, and pirate, meant
very much the same thing, whilst the two latter were then con-
vertible terms with most of our rovers on the deep.

Penrose and his seamen passed but little time on shore except
in the depth of winter ; yet the board in his hall was always
furnished with good substantial fare and the best of liquors, free
for all comers.

Over a few years, when the good man was left a widower, with
an only child — a boy about seven or eight — he seemed to dislike
the very sight of land, for then, even in winter, with his little
son, his cousin William, and two or three old sailors, he would
stay out at sea for weeks together ; leaving, as usual, the care of
his farms and household to the care of a younger brother and an
old reve or bailif.

In returning from one of these trips, in a dark winter's night,
their boat struck on Cowloe and became a wreck. The Squire
swam into Sennen Cove with his boy, and in endeavouring to
save his crew got drowned himself.

The only remaining brother, known as Jan of Penrose, con-
stituted himself sole guardian of the heir, and master of the
place and property.

Now this Jan hated all whom his late brother favoured ; and
in consequence of his ill-will William Penrose left the West
Country — for the sea it was supposed — but whither he wandered
was unknown, as no tidings of him were received in the West.

The new master, however, soon got a large smuggling craft
and manned her with a crew who cared but little what they did
for gold or an exciting life; being well-armed they feared
nothing that sailed the ocean.

Jan of Penrose never went to sea; but gave the command
to a wretch — known to have been a pirate — who was cast on
Gwenvor sands from his ship wrecked in Whitsand Bay, on the
night that the good Squire Penrose was drowned.

This pirate-smuggler and his desperate crew boarded many a
rich merchant-man going up Channel, from which they ap-
propriated whatsoever they pleased, and sent all who opposed
them to the other world by water.

There was no Preventive Service then, to be any check on our
free trade. If Revenue Cutters came near our western land,
their crews dreaded to fall in with Cornish fair-traders more
than our smugglers feared the King's men. As for riding
officers they would ride anywhere else rather than on the cliff,
when beacon fires blazed from the cairns of dark nights to guide
fair-traders' boats into the coves.

214 THE SMUGGLERS OF PENBOSE.

When the rich goods and plunder were landed, and any
over-curious person remarked that they were not such as seemed
likely to have been purchased from our neighbours across the
Channel, the jolly crew would give themselves credit for being
valiant privateers, and as such be much renowned by simple
country folks, and their plunder passed as lawful prize.

People came from all over the country to purchase the goods,
safely stowed in vaults and other hiding places about Penrose ;
and in winter the crew spent much of their time there in drunken
rioting with all the reckless youngsters of the neighbourhood.

After the good Squire was drowned his brother appeared to show
every kindness to the orphan heir ; yet it was remarked that the
child seemed instinctively to avoid his uncle and the captain,
who consorted much together when the smugglers were ashore.

Whenever the boy could elude the old steward's vigilance he
would go away alone to the rocks in Sennen Cove where his
father was drowned, or shut himself up for hours in his father's
bed-room, or wander about other parts of the gloomy north wing,
which was almost in ruins and seldom entered by other inmates.

One winter's day, the ground being covered with snow,
Penrose' s people and many others of the neighbourhood joined for
a wolf-hunt. Traditions say that in those times terrible havoc was
often made on flocks by these fierce beasts, and that children were
sometimes carried off by them when hard pressed with hunger.

Neither John Penrose nor the captain went to the chase;
when at night the game-laden hunters returned and blew their
bugle-horns, they remarked with surprise that the young heir —
who was a general favourite — did not, as was his wont, come
into the court to meet them. The boy was sought for in every
place whither it was thought he might have strayed. His uncle
seemed to be much distressed, and continued the fruitless search
until it was surmised that the child must have missed his way in
returning from Sennen Cove, wandered out under Escols Cliff,
there got drowned by the flowing tide, and carried out to sea on
the ebb.

After this, Jan of Penrose, having all his own, became more
riotously debauched than ever ; and his gang having taken a
somewhat strange aversion to their captain, he left and was no
more seen in the West.

The tapestry chamber and all the northern wing was shut up,
or unoccupied, as it had the reputation of being haunted. None
of the servants nor even the devil-may-care smugglers would
venture into it after night-fall, when unearthly shrieks would be
heard there, and strange lights seen flashing through the
casements till near morning. Lights were also often seen in an
orchard just below the town-place when no one was there.

A FACTION FIGHT. 215

These unnatural occurrences, however, put no check to the
excesses of Penrose's band and the lawless castaways who
joined them. By way of variety to their fun, they frequently
disguised themselves and made nocturnal excursions to some
village within a few miles, where they would alarm the quiet
folks in the dead of night, by discharging their fire-arms in a
volley; and make a bonfire of a furze-rick, out-house, or
thatched dwelling.

The poor villagers in their fright, would mistake these wretches
for outlandish people, come again to burn and pillage as in days
of yore.

They were all the more ready to think so because about this
time the Spaniards had great fondness for roving round the
western coasts, and often did much damage in defenceless places;
it was in Jan Penrose's time, too, that a few Dons, high by day,
put off from a galley in Whitsand Bay, landed on Grwenvor
Sands, and destroyed Velan-dreath Mill. To return to Pen-
rose crew, at the height of the fright and confusion they
would carry off such young women as they had before agreed
on ; the gallants would take their fair-ones before them on
horseback to Escols Cliff or the hills, where they would be left
alone by daybreak, to find their way back afoot. Having carried
on this sport a long time with impunity, they became so bold at
last as to make an attack on Buryan Church-town ; fortunately,
however, Buryan men were apprised of their intentions in time
to be armed and ready to give them a warm reception ; in short
they lay in wait for the smugglers, drove them all into a vacant
place near the cross in Church-town, and there surrounded them ;
when thus hemmed in the band fought desperately, and till
nearly every man of them was killed or disabled they continued
shouting to each other, "cheer up comrades, die one, die all, and
die we merrilly ; " and so many of them met their end in this
encounter that Penrose band was soon after broken up.

One night of the following Christmas, whilst a large company
was assembled at Penrose, keeping high festival after a day's
hunt, loud knocking was heard at the green-court door, and
soon after a servant conducted into the hall an elderly way-
faring man who requested a night's shelter from the snow-
storm.

John Penrose received the wanderer with hospitable courtesy;
and charged his steward, the old reve, to provide him with good
cheer ; the guests continued their glee and paid but little
attention to him, for begging homeless pilgrims were all too
plenty here at that time.

The company was also entertained by professional droll-tellers
and ballad-singers ; persons of that class were then — and long

216 THE SMUGGLERS OF PENR08E.

after continued to be — received, as substitutes for minstrels, in
gentlemen's houses of the humbler sort.

The stranger, however, regarded the company with attention,
and noticed that the master of Penrose looked wretched and
haggard amidst all the merriment. His scrutiny was interrupted
by the steward who conducted him to another room where a well
furnished board, beside a blazing fire, awaited him.

The stranger having refreshed himself, told the old steward
how he had just returned from a long pilgrimage in foreign
lands, and had seen many places spoken of in miracle-plays,
which were acted in the Plan-an-Gware at St. Just, and how he
had that morning arrived at Market-jew on board an eastern ship
that traded there for tin.

He also said that he once had friends in the West Country ;
whether they were alive or dead he knew not, but hoped to
obtain some tidings of them on the morrow.

The wanderer's voice seemed familiar to the old steward, and
recalled former times ; but, ere they had time for more discourse,
they were invited to return to the hall and see a guise-dance,
which was about to commence.

The stranger seemed interested in the quaint performance of
''St. George and the Turkish Knight." A droll-teller in his
character of bard, took the part of chorus ; explained the intent
of coming scenes ; instructed and prompted the actors as well.

The play being concluded and the guisards well rewarded by
the wayfarer, he withdrew and told the steward that he felt
weary after his long walk though the snow and would be glad to
lie down ; if all the beds were occupied, he could repose, he
said, in a settle by the fireside, for a few hours only, as he
intended to leave early in the morning.

The old man replied that he feared any other accommodation in
his power to offer was not such as he might desire, — although the
house was large, with ample bed-rooms for more guests than it now
contained — because a great part of the northern end was shut up
for a reason that the inmates did not like to talk about. Yet as he
believed the pilgrim to be a prudent man, who was, no doubt,
learned in ghostly matters, he was glad to unburden his own
mind and have his visitor's counsel, with his prayers for the
repose of the unquiet spirits that disturbed the place.

Then he told how many of the upper rooms, though well
furnished, were unused and falling to ruin on account of the un-
natural sounds and sights before mentioned. To which the
stranger answered that as he had a mind at ease he had no
reason to dread any ghostly visitants; if the steward would
conduct him to a room in the haunted wing he did not fear for
his rest.

DIVINATION. 217

The old steward, taking a lamp, led tlie way to the tapestry
chamber — being the best room in that part of the mansion. A
faggot of dry ash-wood — already laid in the large open fire-place
— was soon in a blaze, and the room well aired and somewhat
comfortable.

The old man brought in bread, meat, and wine, that the guest
might take more refreshment during the night, and supply his
wallet in the morning if he started before breakfast. After
returning with more wood and bog-turf to keep in the fire, he
bade the guest good-night, sweet rest, and pleasant dreams.

Part the Second.

Blood, though it sleeps a time, yet never dies ;
The gods on murd'rers fix revengeful eyes.

CHAPMAN.

After the old steward had retired from the dreaded room, its
occupant was in no haste to rest himself on the large stately
looking bed ; but seemed never weary of examining the old
portraits and quaint figures in the arras (which might have been
intended for portraits too), the massive oak furniture with bold,
grotesque, carvings, ancient armour, coats of mail, and other
interesting objects, which were suspended from the walls,^or in
hanging presses, with all of which he appeared familiar ; so that
it was near midnight when he sat down in the long window-
seat.

The storm had ceased and a full moon, shining on newly
fallen snow, made it almost as light as day. He opened the
casement and looked into the court, where he saw a company of
young men and women passing out singly and in silence.

The visitor, being well acquainted with West Country customs,
knew — as this was twelfth night — that the object of this silent
procession was to work some of the many spells, ustially practised
at this time, for the purpose of gaining a knowledge of their
future destiny with respect to what they regarded as, the most
important of all events— marriage and death.

So great was the desire of many young people to obtain an

s

218 THE SMUGGLERS OF PENR08E.

insight of what the future had in store for them, that they often
practised singular rites, — still well-known in the West, — which
are probably vestiges of ancient magian ceremonials connected
with divination.

This night, however, the young peoples' intention was simply
to gather ivy leaves and pull rushes ; by the aid of which, with
fire and water, they hoped to discover who would be wedded, and
with whom, or buried before the new year was ended. There are
many instances of predictions, with regard to the latter event,
conducing to accomplish their own fulfilment, from their effects
on people of melancholy temperament.

The pilgrim had not sat long, looking out of the open case-
ment, when he saw the company of young men and maidens
come running back, apparently in great fright. The doors were
all immediately slammed to, the noisy mirth and music suddenly
ceased in the hall. The house, in a few moments, was shrouded
in thick fog ; all was still as death about the place for some
minutes, then a noise was heard like the distant roaring and
moaning of the sea in a storm.

These ocean sounds seemed to approach nearer and nearer
every instant, until the waves were heard as if breaking and
surging around the house. In the wailing wind was heard a
noise of oars rattling in their rowlocks for another instant ; then
as of the casting of oars hastily into a boat.

This was followed by the hollow voices of the smugglers,
drowned with the old Squire, hailing their own names, as
drowned men's ghosts are said to do when they want the
assistance of the living to procure them rest.

All this time the green-court appeared as if filled with the sea,
and one could hear the breakers roaring as when standing on a
cliff in a storm.

All the buildings and trees surrounding the mansion dis-
appeared as if sunk into the ground.

At length the surging of waves and other sounds gradually
died away until they were only heard like the 'calling of cleeves'
before a tempest.

The steward had told the stranger of these noises and appear-
ances, which had become frequent of late, to the great terror of
the household; but he gave little heed to the old man's
tales, thinking that such visions were merely the creations of
weak brains diseased by strong potions.

'Tis said that when the young folks reached the outer gate of
the avenue, near which they would find the plants required for
their spells, all keeping silence and taking care not to look
behind them — as this or speaking would spoil the charm — a
female, who was a short distance ahead of the others, saw what

APPARITION OF THE LOST HEIK. 219

appeared to be the sea coming over the moors before a driving
fog. She ran shrieking to join her companions, who also beheld
the waves fast approaching — rolling, curling, and breaking on
the heath. They aU ran up to the house with their utmost speed ;
and some who had the courage to look behind them, when near
the court door, saw the curling breakers within a few yards of
them ; and a boat, manned with a ghostly crew, came out of the
driving mist as they rushed into the house ; and, not daring to
look out, they saw nothing more.

The weary wayfaring man, having a clear conscience, feared
nothing evil in what appeared to him an unaccountable mystery,
even in that time of marvels ; and, having told his beads, he
committed himself to good spirits' care.

The brave man was rather soothed than alarmed by a
plaintive melody, until there was a change in the harmonious
strains, which grew more distinct ; and mingled with them were
the tones of loved and once familiar Voices, calling, "William
Penrose, arise and avenge the murder of thy cousin's son ! "

Casting a glance towards the window — whence the sound
proceeded — he saw just within it the apparition of a beautiful
boy in white raiment. A light which surrounded it showed the
countenance of the lost heir of Penrose. At the same time the
room was filled with an odour like that of sweet spring flowers.

The pilgrim, William Penrose, spoke to the spirit and conjured
it, according to the form prescribed by Holy Church, to speak
and say what he should do to give it rest.

The apparition, coming nearer, told how he had been
murdered by the pirate-captain of the smugglers, on the grand
hunting day ; and how his uncle had given the pirate a great
quantity of gold to do the bloody deed— that he had been
buried in the orchard under an apple-tree, that would be known,
even in winter, by its blasted appearance, — that the murderer
was then in Plymouth, keeping a public-house, the situation of
which was so plainly described by the spirit that William Penrose
would have no difficulty in finding it, and bringing the murderer
to justice by means of such proofs of his crime as would be
found beneath the blasted tree.

Moreover he told William that the spirits knew he was gone on
a pilgrimage for their repose ; and that they all, through him,
sought his aid to enable them to rest in peace.

William Penrose having promised to perform all according to
the wishes of the departed, music was again heard and the spirit
gradually disappeared in a cloud of light.

Then the weary man sunk into sound repose from which he
only awoke at break of day.

His cousin, the good Squire, had also appeared to him in a

220 THE SMUGGLERS OF PENB08E.

dream, and told him that concealed in the wainscot, beneath a
certain piece of tapestry, he would find a secret cabinet, in which
was preserved good store of gold and jewels for the infant heir ;
and that the key of this hidden treasury was behind a leaf of
carved foliage which ornamented the bed head. He was told to
take what money he required for his journey and to keep the
key.

He found everything as indicated in his dream.

Jan of Penrose had often sought for this private recess —
where heir-looms and other valuables were concealed, and only
made known to the heir when of age, or to a trusty guardian, if a
minor — but he was deterred from further search by such an
apparition as made him avoid the chamber, and of which he
would never speak after his fearful fright was past.

The pilgrim arose and requested the old steward to accompany
him a short distance on his journey.

Before they parted the stranger discovered himself, to the old
man's great delight, to be the long-lamented William Penrose ;
told him that he was about to undertake a long journey for the
repose of the dead; that he would return when he had
accomplished his mission ; and bade the steward adieu, without
speaking of the apparition or the cause of disturbances in the
mansion.

William Penrose, having arrived in the ancient town of Ply-
mouth, and entered the mean public-house to which he had been
directed by the apparition, saw the person he sought lying
stretched by the fireside in a squalid apartment that served for
kitchen, guest-chamber, and sleeping room.

The former pirate-captain looked like a deserter from the
churchyard (as we say) ; the face of this child-murderer was
the colour of one long in the tomb ; with but little signs of life
except in the lurid glare of his sunken eyes.

William Penrose with much difficulty induced the ' wisht-
looking' object to converse ; and, after a while, led him to talk
of the West Country, then of Sennen. Prom that the pilgrim
spoke of Penrose, and asked him if he knew, in Penrose
orchard, a certain apple-tree, which he pointly described. He
had no sooner mentioned it than the inn-keeper exclaimed, " I
am a dead man."

The miserable wretch begged the pilgrim to have mercy on
him and listen to his confession, in which he declared he was
driven to commit the murder by his evil spirit that made him
dislike the child, because he had long hated his parents, more
than from any love of gold given him by Jan of Penrose, to
remove the only obstacle to his possession of the estate.

William Penrose — who was still unknown to the inn-keeper —

THE PIRATE'S CONFESSION. 221

wondered what cause of ill-will he could ever have had against
the good old Squire or his wife, until the former pirate told how
he was the prodigal son — long supposed dead — of an ancient,
respectable, but poor family, whose ancestral seat was within a
few miles of Penrose — how, almost from his childhood, he had
long and truly loved, and as he trusted, had his love returned by
the lady who became the wife of Squire Penrose,— how that he
had left his home in St. Just on a desperate privateering ex-
pedition, in hopes of soon gaining sufficient riches to make the
lady's parents regard him with favour, — how, whilst he was
returning with gold enough to buy the parish, Penrose had
wooed and won the lady — his first and only love, for whom he
had toiled and suffered every hardship during many years.

He also related how when he came home so altered, by the
burning suns of the Spanish Main, that his nearest relatives
knew him not, and found out the ill return his lady-love had
made him, that his only solace was the hope of revenge.

Some of the gold that he had sweat blood to gain, for the sake
of the faithless fair, was laid out in a fast sailing craft, which
might pass for a merchantman, privateer, or pirate, as she was all
in turn during a few years that he roamed the British seas.

The vessel was manned with a desperate crew, most of them
his old comrades, who would do anything to please him. The
design he had formed, more through hate than love, was to
carry the lady off to some foreign land.

A year or so after his return he landed one night in Whitsancl
Bay, accompanied by a great part of his well-armed crew, who
took their way towards Penrose, where he learned ere their
arrival, that his design of carrying off the lady was frustrated
by her having been laid in the grave a few days before.

After this he wandered over sea and land by turns, caring
nothing what became of him, until cast on Gwenvor Sands —
poor and naked, as his ship foundered in deep water, when all
but himself were drowned ; and, as bad luck would have it, he
reached the shore on some loose part of the wreck.

The worst portion of his story from this time is already told ;
but no one can tell, as he related, how the desire of gold — to
enable him to recommence his roving life, far away from the
hated sight of the land and everything else that recalled a
remembrance of his blighted youthful hopes — maddening drink,
and a wicked heart, farther irritated by Jan Penrose, made him
murder the child that he would have given a hundred lives to
restore before he received the uncle's bloody gold.

Since then he had never a moment been free from remorse.
He wished for death, but feared to die. If he drank himself
mad, that only increased the horror of his thoughts.

222 THE SMUGGLERS OF PENROSE.

He had scarcely finished his sad tale when William Penrose
discovered himself to be the well-remembered playmate of the
wretched man's innocent youth ; and he had only time to beg
Penrose to bestow in alms his ill-got store, for the scarcely
hoped for mitigation of future punishment, when he breathed
his last.

When William Penrose returned to Penrose and made himself
known, to the great joy of old servants and others, he found
that what was thought to be merely the gloomy and morose
temper of its master frequently made him shun all society, and
wander about the hills or cliffs and other solitary places, for days
and nights together.

No one either loved, feared, or cared enough about the surly
man to pay him any regard. He was absent then in one of his
melancholy moods, and William with the steward, aided by other
old trusty servants, removed the child's remains from beneath
the blasted tree to Sennen churchyard ; and out of respect to the
honourable old family, little was said or known about the sad
occurrence.

Jan of Penrose was no more seen alive in the old mansion, for
the same night that his nephew's remains were buried in con-
secrated ground, he hanged himself in the malt-house ; and he
haunted it long after.

Following the spirit's injunction William Penrose had still to
find and remove the bodies of the old Squire and his crew. Now it
was supposed that they were ' sanded ' — that is sunk in the moist
sand and covered by it during a flowing tide — near Gwenvor
Cove, because corpse-lights had frequently been seen, and
the drowned sailors had been heard there "hailing there own
names," as they are still accustomed to do when requiring aid of
the living.

Next day Penrose and others found the bodies of the old
sailor-squire and his crew near the place where fishermen had
heard the "calling of the dead," and their remains were laid to
repose, with all holy rites, in an ancient burying-ground near
Chapel Idne, where the wind and waves sing their everlasting
requiem in music they loved well when alive : —

" Pie Jesu, Domine,
Dona eis requiem.
Amen."

William Penrose, now heir-at-law of the bartons of Penrose,
Brew, and other farms in the West Country, — disliking to live
in the place connected with such melancholy events — gave up
his rights of heirship to another branch of the family ; resumed

PENROSES STILL IN THE "WEST. 223

his pilgrim's staff; and was supposed to have died in the
Holy Land.

The Penroses still in the West are said to be descended from
a younger branch of the ancient family of Sennen ; with whom
the Pendreas or Pendars were intermarried.

The family of Jones purchased the Penroses' West Country
property, and it remained in their possession until the beginning
of the last century.

We hear again of smugglers being kept in pay by the last
Jones, of Penrose, and by others who succeeded him. From the
facilities afforded by this secluded place for concealing contra-
band goods, it was always noted as a favourite resort for
western fair-traders.

Many people about the Land's End believe the old mansion
was always haunted ; and it is said this was the principal reason
for taking down and rebuilding a portion of it a few years
since.

TEEGAGLE.

In Cornwaile's fair land, bye the poole on the moore,

Tregeagle the wicked did dwell.
He once was a shepherde, contented and poore,
But growing ambytious, and wishing for more,

Sad fortune the shepherde befefie.

JOHN PENWAUNE.

NE may almost every day hear "West Country folks
make allusion to Tregagle ; for instance, a squall-
ing child is called a Tregagle ; and to a blusterer
they often say, " Hold thy bleatan, thee art worse
than Tregagle roaran before a storm."

But little is known here of the living man's history — which
belo'nged for the most part to the neighbourhood of Bodmin —
all our common sayings, connected with him, refer to his
troxiblesome ghost at Grwenvor.

Our vague traditions, however, represent him as having been
a most unscrupulous lawyer ; and say that he rose from low
estate, by taking bribes to lose his poorer client's cases, by
bearing or procuring false witnesses ; forging documents relating
to the bequest of property; and other nefarious transactions
which resulted in his acquisition of much riches and consequent
power.

He is also said to have been so cruel in his domestic relations,
— by having despatched several wives,- who were rich heiresses —
that he is regarded as a sort of Cornish Bluebeard, who sold his
soul to the devil that he might have his wishes for a certain
number of years.

All our western legends agree, however, in stating that the
particular business which was the cause of his being ' ' called
from the grave " was this : —

A man who resided in the eastern part of the county, lent a
sum of money to another without receiving bond or note or
anything for security, as the transaction was witnessed by
Tregagle; for whom the money was borrowed; and who died
before the money was repaid.

Soon after Tregagle' s death, the lender demanded his money,
and his debtor denied ever having received it.

The case was brought before the court at Bodmin assizes ;
and when the plaintiff said that Tregagle was the only witness,

BOUND TO GWENVOR. 225

the defendant denied it with an oath, and exclaimed, " If Tre-
gagle ever saw it I wish to Grod that Tregagle may come and
declare it."

The words were no sooner uttered than Tregagle stood before
the court, and, pointing to the man, said, "I can no more be a false
witness, thou hast had the money, and found it easy to bring me
from the grave, but thou wilt not find it so easy to put me away."
Wherever the terrified man moved about the court Tregagle
followed him ; he begged the judge and long-robed gentlemen
to relieve him from the spirit. " That's thy business," said they,
one and all, " thou hast brought him, thou may'st get him laid."

The man returned home, but whithersoever he went Tregagle
followed, and would seldom quit his side or let him rest by night
or by day.

He repaid the borrowed money, gave much in alms, and sought
to get rid of the spirit by the aid of parsons, conjurors, and
other wise men, before they succeeded in binding it, for a while,
to empty Dosmery Pool with a crogan (limpet shell) that had a
hole in its bottom.

Having soon finished that task, he returned to the man that
brought him from his grave, and followed and tormented him
worse than before, until he procured the help of other powerful
exorcists who were more astute. The first thing they did was to
draw a circle, out in the town-place, and put the man to stand
within it. The spirit then took the form of a black bull and
tried to get at him with horns and hoofs, but the man was safe
within the line traced. A parson continued reading all the time,
while others kept an eye on the spirit that took many shapes. At
first the holy words of power made him furious ; by turns, he
bellowed like a mad buU, hissed like an adder, or roared like a
wild beast, that he might be heard for miles away. Yet, by
degrees, Tregagle became as gentle as a lamb, and allowed the
spirit- quellers to bind him with a new hempen cord ; and to
lead him far away to Gwenvor Cove.

There they doomed him to make a truss of sand, to be bound
with ropes made of the same material, and carry it up to Carn
Olva.

Tregagle was a long while at his tiresome task without being
able to accomplish it, until it came to a very cold winter, when,
one hard frosty night, by taking water from Velan Dreath brook,
and pouring it over his truss, he caused it to freeze together and
bore it in triumph to Carn Olva.

He then flew back to the man who raised him, and he would
have torn him in pieces, but, by good luck, he happened to have
in his arms an .innocent young child, so the spirit couldn't harm
him.

226 TEEOAGLE.

Without delay the terrified man sent for the nearest parson,
who, however, was not able, alone, to cope with Tregagle ; the
most he could do was to prevent him from harming the man
until other spirit-quellers were brought to his assistance ; with
whose aid the furious spirit was again bound, led away to
Gwenvor, and required to undertake the same task, without
going near fresh water.

So Tregagle was matched at last, for he is still there on
the shore of Whitsand Bay vainly trying to make his truss of
sand; and he is frequently heard roaring for days before a
northerly storm comes to scatter it.

I well remember that when a boy, and living in Eafra, St.
Levan, how elderly men would go out into the town-place, last
thing before they went to bed, to " look at the weather," — in
harvest particularly, — and come in saying, " Tregagle is roaring,
so we shall surely have northerly wind and a dry day to-
morrow," or, "the northern cleeves are calling," by which they
meant the same, and unconsciously used somewhat poetical
figures of speech.

" A legend which connects Tregagle's escape from Gwenvor
with the sanding up of Parcurnow has been noticed (on page
140) ; other stories, however, say, that job was imposed on him
as a separate task, which he quickly accomplished just before he
was finally settled at Gwenvor.

WEST COUNTRY SUPERSTITIONS.

DEVIL'S MONEY.

There needs no other charm nor conjurer,
To raise infernal spirits up, but fear.

BUTLER.

' OT long ago it was believed that Old Nick frequently
appeared in the form of a bull, and that he often
placed money to tempt the unwary. The following
story — told us of the late Sir Eose Price's hunts-
man — will help to explain notions which are not
yet wholly exploded.

When the huntsman was a boy his parents lived in Nancledra,
and sent him daily to a school two or three miles off, till he was
about thirteen years old. He had his dinner sent with him, and
he often minched. One morning he wandered away over the
moors in search of birds' nests and rabbits' burrows. He had a

food pasty in his dinner-bag and the day passed pleasantly in
irds-nesting, searching for young rabbits, and playing about
a tin-stream, three miles or so up the Bottom, where he stayed
till the streamers left work. Then he took his course for home,
over hedges and ditches, wandering wherever his fancy led him,
till almost dark, when he found himself in a large hilly field not
far from Nancledra. In making a short cut for home he crossed
this field, and, when near the middle of it, he heard a bull
bellowing, and shortly saw a large black one making towards
him with tail up and head down ; sometimes it would stop to tear
up the ground, and fling its horns as if to get in practice to toss
the boy ; who being far from any hedges, there seemed no way
of escape from the field before the bull could overtake him. But,
luckily, within a few yards, there was a large rock, to which he
ran and climbed it, a moment only before the bull came to it.

The brute kept on, for a long time, going round and round the
rock, bellowing and tearing up the turf as if in a rage, till at
last, tired with his vain endeavours — as it seemed — to get at the
boy, it hoisted its tail like a flag-staff, galloped off, and vanished
in a minute.

228 WEST COUNTRY SUPERSTITIONS.

The boy didn't venture from his fort for sometime after the
bull left. At length he ' cramed ' down over a shelving side of
the rock on all fours, head foremost — it was too dark to see
where to put his feet. When he touched ground with his hand
he felt and took up what he thought, by the feel of it, to be a
penny-piece or a large button. He ran home and saw, by light
shining through a window, that he had found a penny. When
the way was clear, he made a place to hide it, in a hole over the
chimney-stool — the fire-place was a large open one for burning
furze and turf.

Next night, about the same hour as on the preceding, he went
on the rock, ' cramed ' down again, and found two penny -pieces,
which he hoarded in the hole ; and, night after night, he visited
the rock, found the money doubled each succeeding night, and
picked up silver money in other places where one would the least
expect to find it, till his hiding-place was nearly full in a few
weeks.

How much longer this luck would have continued there is no
knowing ; for, one night, when he thought there was nobody
about, his mother came in and found him standing on the
chimney-stool so earnest about something that he didn't see
her watching him, and he kept handling his money till she
said,

''Whatever hast thee got there between the stones, that thee
art always stealing into the chimney, whenever thee dost think
nobody is noticing of thee."

" Only my buttons and marbles, mother," said he.

"I don't believe thee," replied his mother; "stand away, and
I'll see for myself."

Saying this she took up the fire-hook, ran the point of it into
the hole, and dragged out a lot of money.

"Now tell me, or I'll kill thee, thou lying thief," said she,
"where didst thee get this money; if thee hast stole it I'll
murder thee, I will."

The boy didn't much mind his mother's threats — terrific as
they seem — he was used to it. Yet she made him tell how he
came by the money.

"Oh! good gracious mercy on us," cried she, before he
had finished telling her ; ' ' oh ! thou wicked boy ; thee hast
frightened me out of my life. Now tell me true," moaned
she, wringing her hands, " hast thee used any of the" devil's
money, put there to entice thee to sell thyself to him, body
and soul?"

" No, mother, please sure I han't," said he, "I was savau all
to buy a gun."

"Well, thank goodness," groaned his mother, "that I have

DEVIL'S MONEY. 229

found all out in time to prevent thee shuttan thyself or somebody
else with the devil's gun. I should never more rejoice if I
thought thee hast used a farthing of en. Know, thou plague of
niy heart, that what seemed to thee a bull was the Old One
hisself. He placed the money there for thee, and, when the bull
seemed to vanish, he only changed to an adder, a toad, or some-
thing else that suited his purpose, and he was watchan thee all
the time."

Whilst talking to the boy she raked all the money on to a fire-
shovel, and threw it under a brandes, around which there was a
good turf-fire. In a few minutes all the money melted away, and
was gone like hailstones in sunshine.

Next morning she carried out all the ashes, strewed them about
the town-place, and swept the hearth nine times before she
lighted a new fire. The poor woman never rested till she told
old Parson Stephens. He didn't altogether believe the boy's
story, but said that if it was the devil's money she did right, or
she might have — brought it to him.

The boy was so terrified by what his mother said, that, for
years after, he never ventured to wander by night, even when he
hunted for Sir Rose, and was as stout a man as one might see of
a market day ; and the sight of a black bull or anything he took
for such would always make him tremble.

There are many stories of this class about people having been
enticed with devil's money, but few of them have so fortunate an
ending as the old huntsman's relation.

THE SLIGHTED DAMSEL OF GWINEAR.

Trust me no tortures that the poets feign
Can match the fierce, th' unutterable pain
He feels who, day and night, devoid of rest,
Carries his own accuser in his hreast.

JrVENAL.

is a general belief, in the western part of
Cornwall, that if a greatly injured person, the last
thing before death, reads or recites the 109th Psalm,
usually called the "Cursing Psalm," applying its
comminations to the injurer, the dying maledictions
are sure to take effect.

230 WEST COUNTRY SUPERSTITIONS.

Nearly a hundred years ago there lived in Gwinear Church-
town a young man called Thomas Thomas, who for many years
courted his cousin, Elizabeth Thomas, of the same place. She
was much attached to the young man, who often promised to
make her his wife ; but, when she had shown her .utmost trust
in him, on some little disagreement, he slighted her and proposed
'to wed another damsel of the same village.

One Sunday afternoon he took his new love for a walk, passing
by his old sweetheart's door, purposely to spite her.

Soon after they had passed the cot of Elizabeth's parents, the
betrayed and wronged girl, who was of a very hasty temper,
took a rope and a prayer book, went into a road- way field, and
hanged herself near the path by which her faithless lover and
his new fiance had passed, and would, probably, return.

They came home, however, by another road. On tbeir
arriving in Church-town, somebody asked them if they had seen
Elizabeth, and remarked t&at no one knew where she had gone,
as she had been sought in vain all over Church-town.

'•Good God," exclaimed Thomas, "has she made away with
herself? For more than once she vowed that she would if I
slighted her."

Then, as if tokened by her spirit, he went, followed by others,
direct to the tree on which they found her hanging and dead.

On the ground, at her feet, was her open prayer book. He
took it up and found a leaf turned down at the "Cursing Psalm;"
on a leaf too he read her name followed by " When this you see
remember me."

Thomas then knew how she had doomed him ; and he exclaimed
" I'm ruined, I'm ruined, for ever and ever."

For a long while he wandered about like one distracted,
working in various parts of the country, sometimes at mining,
other times at husbandry, and never returned to Gwinear
Church-town.

Little was seen of him, by anyone who knew him, until after
some years, when he went to live in Market-jew. He would
never venture to church or chapel for fear of hearing read the
109th Psalm ; he dreaded even to pass near a school for the same
reason.

He was several times hurt in the mines, in which he worked ;
and he attributed all his misfortunes and bad luck to the curse
uf Elizabeth, whose avenging ghost often appeared to him — as
well by day as by night — with an open prayer book in her
hand.

He could never sleep without a comrade in his room ; and
seldom even then, for, after a short slumber, when worn-out
with fatigue, he would start up in bed, crying in agony, "Oh,

THE CURSING PSALM. 231

dear Betsy, shut the book. Do shut the book."

Notwithstanding the distraction of his mind, he was still a
fine, strong, lusty, man, and many of his comrades advised him
to get married, saying there was nothing like a living wife TO
drive away the spirit of a dead sweetheart. Taking their advice,
he paid his addresses to several young women of the neighbour-
hood and others farther away ; but they, one and all, flouted
him with scorn, for the history of his unfortunate first love
was blown far and near. If he persisted in his suit the indignant
damsels would ask him with a sneer if he wished to bring all the
ill- wishes of the " Cursing Psalm " on their heads, too.

At length, however, a widow in Market-jew took pity on
Thomas and consented to venture her lot with him ; and Betsy's
ghost ceased persecuting him — for a bit.

But on the road to St. Hilary Church — whither Thomas and
the widow proceeded to get married — the weather suddenly
changed ; from a calm and sunshine it became a tempest, with
thunder and lightning ; it was harvest time, and a cloud, black
as night, hung over them, and rain poured along churchway-
path, whilst they saw people binding barley in the fields on
either hand.

Thomas, trembling with fear, saw his sweetheart's ghost, with
her open book, standing menacingly in the path before him ;
and he would have turned back, had not the widow urged him
on, saying that she saw no ghost, and didn't mind her nor yet her
book ; and got him married. He lived for a few years pretty
tranquilly ; and his wife bore him two children. Then he was
again disturbed with visits froni the avenging ghost ; and some
misfortune or sickness always closely followed its appearance ;
until Thomas — worn-out in body and mind — when less than
forty years of age died, and was buried in St. Hilary.

THE WEECK OF ADMIRAL SIR CLOUDESLEY SHOVEL.

are reminded by the above of the wreck of
Admiral Sir Cloudesley Shovel's ship, the "Associ-
ation," at Scilly ; and of a tradition, common to
the Islands, which attributes that disaster to the
reading or reciting of the 109th Psalm, shortly

before death, by one of Sir Cloudesley's crew, whom he unjustly

condemned to be hanged.

232 WEST COUNTRY SUPERSTITIONS.

The Admiral was returning with his fleet from' Toulon, when,
on the evening of the 22nd October, 1707, his ship struck on the
Gilstone, about three miles and a half from St. Agnes ; and in
a few minutes afterwards she went down, and everybody on
board perished, except one man, who saved himself by floating
on a piece of timber to a rock called Hellweathers, — about two
miles and a half from the Gilstone, — where he remained some
days before the weather permitted any boat to approach and take
him off to St. Agnes.

He is said to have stated that the day before the Admiral's ship
was wrecked, one of the crew, who was a native of Scilly, and
well acquainted with the channel, represented to Sir Cloudesley
that the course the ship was taking would bring her on Scilly
rocks. The Admiral and his officers were incensed at the man's
interference; and because he persisted in affirming that the ship's
way was wrong and would bring them to destruction, Sir
Cloudesley Shovel — rather summarily, one might now think —
condemned the man to be hanged for insubordination and
endeavouring to excite a mutiny.

When the poor fellow was tied to the mast, preparatory to his
being suspended by his neck, from the yard-arm, he begged, as
a last favour, that a Psalm might be read before his execution.
His request being granted, he selected the 109th, and repeated
certain imprecatory portions of it after the reader ; and the last
words he uttered were to the effect that Sir Cloudesley Shovel and
those who saw him hanged should never reach the land alive.

His body, shrouded in a hammock, with a shot to sink it, was
cast into the deep, and but little heed paid to the dying sailor's
sentence. Shortly after, however, the sky, which had been gloomy
all day, became much darker ; black, lowering, clouds, hung over
the fleet like a funeral pall, and the gale rose to a violent
tempest. Then the hanged man's curse was dreaded ; and lo, to
the crew's consternation, they beheld his corpse — divested of its
rude winding-sheet — floating near the doomed ship, which it
closely followed, with its face turned towards her, — in all her
varying course, through eddying currents, — until she struck on
the Gilstone ; when the hanged man went down with the ship and
his messmates.

At this unfortunate time there perished, besides the Admiral,
several officers, and about two thousand men, belonging to the
"Association " and other vessels ^of the fleet.

Sir Cloudesley Shovel's body was washed ashore at Porth-
Hellick Bay, in St. Mary's, about eight miles from the Gilstone.
It was quite naked, and on the hatch of a ship, on which he had
endeavoured to save himself, — and a little dog lay by him,— when
he was found by a soldier and his wife, who only knew him to be

RIDING OLD NICK. 233

the Admiral by a diamond ring on his finger. They buried him
in the sand, where a pit on Porth-Hellick Bank still marks Sir
Gloudesley Shovel's grave. The pit never fills np in the greatest
storms ; and no grass ever grows on this blasted grave, although
the ground around it is often green.

" So the hanged seaman had as sweet a bit of revenge as one
could wish for," said our narrator, with a motion of his head
which showed his satisfaction at the Fates' award.

Connected with this unfortunate occurrence, there is a gratifying
bit of true history — we cannot say so much for all the above —
which says that Lady Shovel, on having her husband's ring, — by
which his body was identified, — sent her by the soldier, she gave
him a pension for life ; and the Admiral was deposited in West-
minster Abbey, where his monument recalls the direful tale.

A NIGHT'S EIDE TO SCILLY.

No rcpares en eso, Sancho, que como estas cosas y estas volaterias van fuera
do los cursos ordinarios, de mil leguas ver&s y oiras lo que quisieres, y no me
aprietes tanto, que me derribas ; y en verdad que no se de que te turbas ni te
espantas, que osare jurar que en todos los dias de mi vida he subido en
cabalgadura de paso mas llano : no parence sino que no nos movemos de un
lugar. Destierra, amigo, el miedo, que en efecto la cosa va como ha de ir, y el
riento llevamos en popa.

****»**»

Bein es verdad que senti que pasaba por la region del.aire, y aun que tocaba
a la del fuego ; pero que pasasemos de alii no To puedo creer.

D. QUIJOTE.

[ANY persons, not at all given to lying, assert that
they have been carried up and away by Old Nick,
in the form of a horse. For the most part, they
affirm that they were taken " towers high ; " and,
when their infernal steed descended it threw them
off violently, and vanished in fire and smoke.

We know a man called Jackey — never mind his surname—
who had long been a sober character, and was so particularly
veracious that he prefaced all his stories by saying, ' ' I won't tell
'e a word of a lie, and know it ! " Indeed this common affirm-
ation of his has become an every-day saying, when anything

234 WEST COUNTRY SUPERSTITIONS.

doubtful is related. Well, Jackey lias often told us, and many
others, that, when a young man, and not so good as he might
have been, he dwelt in the north of St. Just, and courted a girl
who lived in Tardinney with her parents, who either rented a few
acres or some dairy cows. One Sunday afternoon he went early
to see his sweetheart. Whilst she was out milking, and he with
her, the old woman, her mother, made a nice heavy currant-cake
for tea. All was ready on the board when they returned from
milking. Jackey made a hearty tea, or supper, as we should
say ; but, when that was over, the old woman said, "I've made a
junket for thee, Jackey, as it's the first Sunday in May ; it's in the
dairy, ' runn'd ' by this time ; I'll bring it to thee in a minute."

" Don't think I can find room for it," said he ; " I'm as full as
a tick."

" Hold thy tongue," said she ; " go thee wayst out and take a
few jumps down from the heaping-stock, and pack the tea and
trade away ! Junket is no fillan, any more than drink ; it will
only quaff (puff) one for a bit."

Jackey went out and exercised himself a few minutes, by leaping
over a stile ; came in and found on the table a basin of junket
well spread with thick cream and honey. It was no shabby
allowance either, for the bowl held a quart or more. Whilst
Jackey dispatched his junket his sweetheart rigged herself in
her best, and then away they went down to Sennen Church-town
to Methodist meeting. There they met several of his comrades
with their sweethearts. Preaching over, they all went into the
" First and Last " for a drop of something to drink. Santusters
are always free enough in treating the women — and everybody
else for that matter — so each of the fair ones had a glass of
gin-and-peppermint or of brandy and cloves, or both if they
liked, and most of them did like to taste both cordials and a
glass of shrub besides. The men had a few mugs of shenackrum
(gin and beer) with a dram of rum all around to finish off. They
were a score or more going to St. Just ; and all kept together
till they came to the Burying-place Downs, where they parted
company, and all the Santusters went Brea way, singing snatches
of some well-known revival hymns to lively song tunes, except
Jackey, who had to put his sweetheart home by the other road.

It was between ten and eleven o'clock when they got to Tar-
dinney, and found the old folks gone to bed. A glowing turf-
fire burned on the hearth, and they stayed courting till about
one in the morning. But before Jackey left, his kind-hearted
dear had tempted him to a slight supper of half a dozen eggs
that she had saved up during the week unknown to the ' ' old
'oman," and which were boiled over the turfy-fire. Jackey ate
them with some bread and butter, then he had a good piece of cold

A NIGHT'S RIDE TO SCILLY. 235

cake, left from tea, with a bowl of milk; kissed; said good-night ;
and started for home.

Jackey had been tramping about nearly all day. He had a
tiresome walk before him of nearly four miles ; and to foot it, all
alone, seemed doubly wearisome. He walked on pretty fast till
he came half-way over Kelynack Downs. There he sat down to
rest a minute and felt tired enough to sleep in a pool of water.
He couldn't help wishing, when he rose to proceed, that an old
horse might come in his way, — there were generally plenty of
them on the common. He hadn't gone more than a hundred
yards, when he saw what appeared to be an old black horse stand-
ing stock-still, as if asleep, close by the road. Jackey untied and
took the halter it was spanned (hobbled) with from its legs, placed
it over its head, mounted, and did his utmost to keep it on the
road. But, in spite of all he could do, it took off westward over
the Downs, going slowly at first, but soon quickened its pace till
it went like the wind, and he was nearly blown off sometimes,
with the rush of air occasioned by their speed, for there was no
wind to speak of.

The night was so clear that he saw the Longships light nearly
all the time, till they came to the cliff near the Land's End,
to the best of his judgment. He felt no fear to speak of. The
thing he bestrode took him over cliff — not right down, but
sloping away gently. It went off through the air — just skimming
the sea — strait to Scilly, and arrived there very quickly: — he
thought it might be in a quarter of an hour or thereaway, from
the time he left the Longships behind his back till they came to
St. Agnes flashing light.

There was no stay when it came to the islands ; for away it went
all around and across them so high up that he saw all Scilly isles
spread out like a map, and so plainly that he always remembered
their position. Then without any control from the rider,
Jackey 's steed turned tail on Scilly and brought him back — about
daybreak — to Kelynack Downs again, within a stone's throw of
the rock where he mounted, shook him off pretty gently, and
vanished in flame and smoke — as usual.

The Devil carried Jackey easy enough ; but, for nearly a week
after his ride, he felt very stiff and sore all over.

If any doubting body questioned the truth of this story or
hinted that perhaps he fell asleep on Kelynack Downs and had
" stag," or got " hilla-rodden," (night-mare) he would reply,

" Don't 'e believe it, my dear; not sure nuf ; and, as a proof that
what I tell 'e is true, if you will give me a piece of chalk I'll mark
out all the islands as I seed them, and as correct as anyone who
had lived there all his time. Yet I had«never been to Scilly
before, nor have I since that night. Bless the Lord, I had a

236

WEST COUNTRY SUPERSTITIONS.

narrow escape ; but didn't stay so late a-courting any more, and
a few months after that night's ride, Mally and me — we got
married."

One can't see what motive Old Nick had in this case, to take
such trouble, unless it were for a mere freak, because he never
seemed to claim any recompense from his rider.

To be " hilla-ridden," and to have the "stag," are the only
names known to old country folks for the " night-mare," which
is a word one never hears among them. There is, however, some
difference in the signification of our two local terms. The former
means to pass the time in an agony of tormenting dreams ; the
latter is used for obstructed respiration, or a feeling of weight
on the chest, that prevents a person from moving.

ANCIENT BRIDAL CUSTOMS.

"With the past and with the present,

Quaint old manners still are link'd ;
Olden customs, grave and pleasant,

Ling'ring still, though nigh extinct.

C. T. C.

West Country folks still observe a few old-
fashioned marriage usages; one of which the
following sketch will explain. It was given us, as
inserted, by a young man who was one of the
wedding guests.
"In the winter of 1860 we were invited to a wedding at a
place called the Grambler in Sancreed ; with strict orders to be
in time to accompany the "weddenars" to church at ten o'clock
the following Saturday morning.

Not caring to take part in the ceremony, we only left Penzance
at one o'clock in the afternoon. On our arriving at New Bridge
we found a messenger awaiting our arrival to guide us to the
bride's parents' house where the wedding was being held. He
also brought a bottle of brandy which An' Nancy, the bride's
mother, sent for the ' ' strangers from Penzance to drink on the
way, to keep out the cold."

On nearing the house, we heard music and dancing, when our
guide hastened on before to let the party know we were come.
" My dear boys," said An' Nancy, meeting us at the door, " come
'e in quick out of the cold, we've ben afeerd you woddan coman."
All the company received us with hearty kindness ; being
placed at the board, our host said, "We've had dennar, my dears,
but there's plenty left for 'e," at the same time pitching on each
of our plates a piece of roast beef of not less than four pounds,
"Aet that fust," he continued, " then you shall have some more."
My companion looking rather surprised at the liberal supply,
An' Nancy exclaimed, "What's the matter weth thee my boy,
dossena like et ? Well than thee shust have somethan else ; "
and without waiting a reply, took away the plate of beef and
replaced it with one of roast goose and a dish of boiled pudding,
saying, "Now there, my dear boy, aet that, I s'ppose the beef
was too tough for 'e."

Meanwhile the wedding-party — most of whom were young
people — awaited us in another room ; we soon joined them and

238 WEST COUNTRY SUPERSTITIONS.

found good drink and cakes in abundance. Uncle Will, the
bride's father, being called upon for a toast, he gave : —

" Here's to the bridegroom and the bride,
May they stick to each other's side ;
I hope their life will be of joy,
And that the fust will be a boy."

which was received with roars of laughter and stamping of feet.
Aunt Nancy took from a buffet several bottles of cordials for the
women and others who liked them ; amongst others were poppy
and blackberry syrups, sweet-drink (mead), — that had been
kept some years for this happy occasion — and peppermint water,
of her own distilling. Presently the fiddle struck up with a jig.
"Les have the double shuffle, Uncle Will," said the young
people. Up he jumped as lively as a kid, though he was near
eighty, and footed it out to the delight of all.

Young Jan of Santust (St Just) followed, making the fire fly
from the heels of his boots, like flashes of lightning; and all
the company were quickly whirling, in reels, without much
order.

Now, whilst the gaiety was at its height, the newly-wedded
couple had contrived to slip out quietly, and hasten to their new
home. "They're off, they're off," cried several voices; "come on
soas, or else we shall be too late ; they will be in bed and lock
the door." Away they all flew, like mad devils, scampering over
hedges and ditches for nearly a mile. We followed — fortunately
for us it was a clear moonlight night.

When we got to the house the foremost of the party were up
stairs. " Come 'e up, boys," shouted they ; up we went and found
the bride and bridegroom in bed, with their clothes on, having
had no time to lock the door even, as the wedding guests were
close on their heels.

We shall long remember the scene we then witnessed; the
guests were beating them in bed, with stockings, straps, braces,
or anything they could lay hands on. " Give them pepper,"
shouted young Jan, the groom's best man; "give etthem, boys,"
and pepper them they did right merrily. Not wishing to be
behind the rest, we took off our braces and followed suit. They
continued this strange sport for a good while, until the leader
said, " Les go back, soas, or else we shall be all ill-wisht, for et's
nearly twelve a' clock."

Away they again rushed back to the old folks' house ; and each
one on arriving, before speaking, touched the cravel, (lintel or
head-stone of the hearth) with his or her head, for good luck.

The old couple seemed well satisfied when we returned, as it
was not quite midnight.

OLD MARRIAGE USAGES.

239

Many elderly folks had arrived late in the evening to drink
health and long life to the newly-married ; they assured us that
it was an old custom to tan young married people to bed, or else
they would meet with bad luck all their days. The good old
souls had arranged for us to stay over night ; but as we deemed
it best to return home, they made us take more to eat and drink,
to keep out the cold and help us on the road, they said. Then
amidst hearty leave-takings and promises to visit them again
soon, they allowed us to depart.

Well, somehow, we arrived home about daybreak, but often
wished that we had stopped at the Grambler till sunrise.

At more modish weddings the guests merely enter the bridal-
chamber and throw stockings — in which stones or something to
make weight are placed — at the bride and bridegroom in bed.
The first one hit, of the happy couple, betokens the sex of their
first-born.

It was an old custom, religiously observed, until lately, in
Zennor and adjacent parishes on the north coast, to waylay a
married couple on their wedding-night and flog them to bed with
cords, sheep-spans, or anything, handy for the purpose ; believing
that this rough treatment would ensure them happiness and the
" heritage and gift that cometh from the Lord," of a numerous
family.

MADRON WELL.

N passing over a stile and entering the moor in
which the well is situated, cross the moor at a right-
angle to the hedge, and a minute's walk will bring
one to the noted spring, which is not seen until very
near, as it has no wall above the surface, nor

any mark by which it can be distinguished at a distance.

Much has been written of the remarkable cures effected by its

holy waters, and the intercession of St. Madron, or Motran ;

when it was so famous that the maimed, halt, and lame, made

pilgrimages from distant parts to the heathy moor.

- 240 WEST COUNTEY SUPERSTITIONS.

It is still resorted to on the first three Wednesdays in May, by
some few women of the neighbourhood, who bring children to
be cured of skin diseases by being bathed in it. Its old repute
as a divining fount has not yet quite died out, though young folks
visit it now to drop pebbles or pins into the well, more for fun
and the pleasure of each other's company, than through any
belief that the falling together, or the separation of pins or
pebbles, will tell how the course of love will run between the
parties indicated by the objects dropped into the spring ; or that
the number of bubbles which rise in the water, on stamping
near the well, mark the years, in answer to any question of time ;
but there was not such want of faith, however, half a century
ago.

A short time since I visited an elderly dame of Madron, who
was a highly reputed charmer for the cure of various skin ail-
ments ; I had known her from, my childhood ; and my object was
to glean what I could about the rites practised, within her
remembrance, at Madron Well, the Crick-stone, and elsewhere.

She gave the following account of the usages at Madron Well
about fifty years ago. At that time, when she lived in Lanyon,
scores of women from Morvah, Zennor, Towednack, and other
places, brought their children to be cured of the shingles, wild-
fires, tetters, and other diseases, as well as to fortify them against
witchcraft or being blighted with an evil eye.

An old dame called An' Katty, who mostly lived in the Bos-
sullows, or some place near, and who did little but knitting-work,
picked up a good living in May by attending at the well, to
direct the high country folks how they were to proceed in using
the waters.

First she had the child stripped as naked as it was born ; then
it was plunged three times against the sun ; next the creature
was passed quickly nine times around the spring, going from east
to west, or with the sun ; the child was then dressed, rolled up
in something warm, and laid to sleep near the water ; if it slept,
and plenty of bubbles rose in the well, it was a good sign. I
asked if a prayer, charm, or anything was spoken during the oper-
ations? " Why, no, to be sure," my old friend replied, " don't 'e
know any better, there musn't be a word spoken all the time
they are near the water, it would spoil the spell ; and a piece
rented, not cut, from the child's clothes, or from that of anybody
using the well must be left near it for good luck ; ever so small
a bit will do. This was mostly placed out of sight between the
stones bordering the brooklet, or hung on a thorn that grew' on
the chapel wall.

Whilst one party went through their rites at the spring, all the
others remained over the stile in the higher enclosure, or by the

MADKON WELL. 241

hedge, because, if a word were spoken by anybody near the well
during the dipping, they had to come again." The old woman, An'
Katty, was never paid in money, but balls of yarn, and other
things she might want, were dropped on the road, outside the
well-moors, for her ; she also got good pickings by instructing
young girls how to "try for sweethearts" at the well. " Scores of
maidens" — the dame's words — "used, in the summer evenings,
to come down to the well from ever so far, to drop into it pins,
gravels, or any small thing that would sink." The names of
persons were not always spoken when the objects which
represented them were dropped into the water; it sufficed to
think of them; and as pins or pebbles remained together or
separated, such would be the couple's fate. It was only when
the spring was working (rising strongly) that it was of any use
to try the spells ; and it was unlucky to speak 'when near the
well at such times.

The old woman that I visited said she had never heard that any
saint had anything to do with the water, except from a person
who told her there was something about it in a book ; nor had
she or anybody else heard the water called St. Madron's Well,
except by the new gentry, who go about new naming places, and
think they know more about them than the people who have
lived there ever since the world was created. She never heard
of any ceremony being performed at the old Chapel, except that
some persons hung a bit of their clothing on a thorn tree that
grew near it. High Country folks, who mostly resort to the
spring, pay no regard to any saint or to anyone else, except some
old women who may come down with them to show how every-
thing used to be done.

There is a spring, not far from Bosporthenes, in Zennor, which
was said to be as good as Madron Well ; and children were often
taken thither and treated in the same way.

Such is the substance of what the dame related ; and she
regarded the due observance of ancient customs as a very solemn
matter.

In answer to the questions of " What was the reason for going
round the well nine times ? Leaving bits of clothing ? Following
the sun, &c. ? " It was always the same reply, " Such were the
old customs, and everybody knew it was unlucky to do any such
work, and many things besides, against the sun's course; no
woman, who knew anything, would place pans of milk in a dairy,
so as to have to unream (skim) them, in turn, against the sun,
nor stir cream in that direction to make butter.

By following down the well-stream or hedge, mentioned above,
we come to the Chapel. In its southern wall may be noticed an
opening for letting water from the brook, which runs near it,

242 WEST COUNTRY SUPERSTITIONS.

flow into a baptistry in the south-western corner of the Chapel.
Entering the door- way, on the northern side, one may remark
that this primitive fount appears to have been arched over, after
the manner of our old bee-hive huts, by the upper rows of stones
slightly overhanging. The altar table-slab, or mensa — still
remaining at the east end — has a square pit worked in its centre,
probably to mark the spot — over reliques — on which the mon-
strance was placed. A step makes the division between the little
nave and sacrarium ; there are also the remains of stone seats
which were carried all around against the walls.

Let no rude hand remove,
Or spoil thee ; for the spot ifl consecrate
To thee, and thou to it.

THE CRICK-STONE, OR MEN-AN-TOL.

i|fe?«N a croft belonging to Lanyon farm, and about half a mile
IJiL north of the town-place, there is a remarkable group of
three stones, the centre one of which is called by
antiquaries the Men-an-tol (holed stone), and by country
folk the Crick-stone, from an old custom — not yet extinct
— of " crameing " (crawling on all fours) nine times through the
hole in the centre stone, going against the sun's course, for the
cure of lumbago, scatica, and other " cricks " and pains in the
back. Young children were also put through it to ensure
them healthy growth.

Antiquaries are undecided with respect to the purpose for
which these mysterious stones were erected. Some hold that it is
a sepulchral monument, as well as the Men Scryfa (inscribed
stone) half a mile further on, because there is a tradition that a
little below, in Gendhal moor, there was once so great a battle
that the streams ran with blood. Others think the object
of its erection was for the computation of time; among the
latter is Professor Max Miiller, who, in the Quarterly Review,
for August, 1867, after stating that the three stones are in a line
bearing nearly east and west, says : —

" This Men-an-tol may be an old dial, erected originally to fix
the proper time for the celebration of the autumnal equinox,

THE CHICK-STONE, OB MEN-AN-TOL. 243

and, though it may have been applied to other purposes likewise,
such as the curing of children by dragging them several times
through the hole, still its original intention may have been
astronomical."

He also thinks that the Men-heeres (long stones) served the
same purpose, as they are mostly found in pairs bearing nearly
east and west.

The Tolmen, in Constantino parish, and holed stones in other
parts of the county, were used the same way as Lanyon Crick-
stone for curing various ailments.

To cure boils and rheumatism, persons "crame" nine times
against the sun, under a bramble growing at both ends.

The notion is that going against the sun will backen a disease
but in all other cases the sun's course must be followed.

CHARMS.

)HEEE are persons in every parish west of Hayle, and
in many east of it, who charm for the cure of various
ailments. The members of a family, formerly of
Sennen, are believed to possess peculiar virtues as
charmers, which is said to have been obtained,
hundreds of years ago, from a forefather of theirs, dwelling in
Escols, who found, washed in on Gwenvor sand, a very old man,
almost dead, whom he took to his house, had him well cared for, so
that he soon recovered and prepared to depart. Before leaving,
however, he told his host that he had neither gold nor silver to
pay him for his hospitality ; yet he would bestow on him and his
what would be of more value ; and imparted to the old man of
Escols most of the following charms, which a descendant of the
family gave me by word of mouth ; if written they are useless,
and the giver of a written one thenceforth loses the power to cure
by charming.

Charm for a scald, wild-fire, burn, or any other
inflammatory diseases.

The person to be charmed gathers nine bramble leaves, which
are put into a vessel of spring water ; then each leaf is passed

244 WEST COUNTRY SUPERSTITIONS.

over and from the diseased part, whilst repeating three times to
each leaf as follows : —

" Three ladies come from the east,

One with fire and two with frost ;

Out with thee fire, and in with thee frost,

In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost."

A stick of fire is then taken from the hearth and passed over
and around the diseased part whilst the above is repeated nine
times.

Charm for a prick of a thorn, boils, kennels, fyc.

11 Christ was crowned with thorns,

The thorns did bleed but did not rot,

No more shall thy finger for whatever part it may bej,

In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost."

Charm for staunching blood.

" Christ was born in Bethlehem,

Baptised in the river Jordan ;

There he digg'd a well.

And turn'd the water against the hill,

So shall thy blood stand still.

In the name, &c."

Charm for a tetter.

" Tetter, tetter, thou hast nine sisters.
God bless the flesh and preserve the bone,
Perish thou tetter and be thou gone,
In the name, &c."

" Tetter, tetter, thou hast eight sisters.
God bless the flesh and preserve the bone,
Perish thou tetter and be thou gone,
In the name, &c."

The charm is thus continued until it comes to the last, which
is: —

" Tetter, tetter, thou hast no sister,
God bless the flesh and preserve the bone,
Perish thou tetter and be thou gone.
In the name, &c."

CHASMS. 245

Charm for toothache.

" Christ pass'd by his brother's door,
Saw bis brother lying on the floor.
' What aileth thee, brother ?
Pain in thy teeth ?
Thy teeth shall pain thee no more.'
In the name, &c."

The charmer places his or her thumb on the diseased part in
all but the first charm.

Divination with a Bible and key ; seeking a response to doubts
from the first words the eye may glance on in letting a Bible
fall open ; and various other superstitious practices, common to
all England, are well known here and need not be described.

THE FAIKY TKIBES.

ELIEF in fairies is far from being extinct in Corn
wall, though our country folks never call them by
that name.

A few days since, a woman of Mousehal told me
that not long ago troops of small people, no more
than a foot and a half high, used — on moonlight nights — to
come out of a hole in the cliff, opening onto the beach, Newlyn
side of the village, and but a short distance from it. The little
people were always dressed very smart; and if anyone came
near them they would scamper away into the hole. Mothers
often told their children that if they went under cliff by night
the small people would carry them away into " Dicky Danjy's
holt."

Another kind called spriggans, which simply means sprites,
are believed to guard treasures buried in cliff and hill castles.

Not long since a tinner of Lelant dreamt, three nights follow-
ing, that a crock of gold was buried in a particular spot,
between large rocks within the castle, on Trecroben hill. The
next clear moonlight night he dug up the ground of which he
had dreamt. After working two or three hours he came to a flat
stone which sounded hollow ; whilst digging round its edges, the
weather became suddenly dark, the wind roared around the
earns, and looking up, when he had made a place for his hands
to lift it, he saw hundreds of ugly spriggans coming out from

246 WEST COUNTRY SUPERSTITIONS.

amidst the rocks gathering around and approaching him. The
man dropped his pick, ran down the hill and home as fast as he
could lay foot to ground ; he took to his bed and was unable to
leave it for weeks!

When ho next visited the castle ho found the pit all filled in,
with the turf replaced ; and he nevermore dug for the treasure.

Piskey still leads benighted people astray ; this sprite wanders
alone and is always spoken of in the singular. It is somewhat
remarkable that a green bug, frequently found on bramble
bushes in autumn, is called by this name. After Michaelmas, it
is said, that blackberries are unwholesome because Piskey spoils
them then.

Places frequented by goats are believed to be the favourite
haunts of fairies.

It is uncertain whether Bucka can be regarded as one of the
fairy tribe ; old people, within my remembrance, spoke of a
Bucka Gwidden and a Bucka Dhu — by the former they meant a
good spirit, and by the latter an evil one, now known as Bucka
boo. I have been told, by persons of credit, that within the last
forty years it was a usual practice with Newlyn and Mousehal
fishermen to leave on the sand at night a portion of their catch
for Bucka. Probably from this observance the common nickname
of Newlyn Buckas was derived. An old rhyme says : —

" Penzance boys up in a tree,
Looking as wisht as wisht can be ;
Newlyn buckas as strong as oak,
Knocking them down at every poke."

From this it appears that Newlyn boys once considered it a
matter of pride to be called by the name of their ancient divinity.

The knockers of the mines — that some class among fairy
tribes — are simply believed, by our tinners, to be the spirits of
those who worked the ' old bals ' in ancient times.

MERMAIDS AND THE HOOPER. . 247

5ITHIN easy memory many parts of the western
coast were said to be frequented by mermaids,
particularly Sennen Cove. This place was also re-
sorted to by a remarkable spirit railed the Hooper
— from the hooting or hooping sounds which it
was accustomed to make.

In old time, according to tradition, a compact cloud of mist
often came in from over sea — when the weather was by no means
foggy — and rested on the rocks called Cowloe, thence it spread
itself, like a curtain of cloud, quite across Sennen Cove. By night
a dull light was mostly seen amidst the vapour, with sparks
ascending as if a fire burned within it ; at the same time hooping
sounds were heard proceeding therefrom. People believed the
misty cloud shrouded a spirit, which came to forewarn them of
approaching storms, and that those who attempted to put to
sea found an invisible force — seemingly in the mist — to resist
them.

A reckless fisherman and his son, however,— disregarding the
token — launched their boat and beat through the fog with a
threshal (flail) ; they passed the cloud of mist which followed
them, and neither the men, nor the Hooper, were evermore seen
in Sennen Cove.

This is the only place in the west where any tradition of such
a guardian spirit is preserved.

THE WRECKER AND THE DEATH SHIP.

Full well 'tis known adown the dale ;
Tho' passing strange indeed the tale,
And doubtful may appear.

SHENSTONE.

EESONS of a notoriously wicked character were said
to have been frequently taken off bodily by Old
Nick when they died. The following is one of many
stories to that effect.

More than a hundred years ago a dark strange
man appeared in St. Just ; no one knew whence he came, but it
was supposed, however, that he was put ashore from a pirate
ship, by way of marooning him ; as the crews of such are wont
to do by any wretch that is too bad oven to consort with high sea
robbers.

248 WEST COUNTRY SUPERSTITION'S.

He didn't appear to want for money as he soon rented a small,
lone, tenement, near the shore, and married a widow of the
neighbourhood.

People wondered, for a long while, how so many vessels got
wrecked under the cliff that bordered the stranger's farm.

At length it was discovered that on dark winter nights —
when honest folks were a-bed — he made it his practice to fasten
a lantern to the neck of a horse, which he had hobbled, by tying
down its head to a fore-leg ; then he drove the horse along near
the cliff, and the lantern, from its motion, would be taken for a
vessel's stern-light.

Consequently those on board ships sailing by, expecting to find
plenty of sea room, would come right in and be wrecked on the
rooks. Any of their crews that escaped a watery grave the
wretch would knock on the head with his axe, or cut off their
hand when they tried to grasp the rocks.

He lived long and became rich by his sin. At length, however,
the time came for the fiend to claim his own. When he was dying
his awful shrieks were heard far away, as he cried, ' ' Do save me
from the devil, and the sailors, there, looking to tear me to
pieces." Several parsons and other pious folks were sent for, —
all those of the neighbourhood readily came, for the dying
sinner was rich.

Though it was in harvest time and high day, the old wrecker's
chamber became, at times, as dark as night. The parsons saw
the devil in the room, when others could not ; by their reading
they drove him to take many shapes, but for aU that he would
not be put out ; at last, when he took the form of a fly, and
buzzed about the dying wretch, they saw it was in vain for them
to try any longer.

During the time the exorcists were engaged, the chamber
seemed — by the sound— to be ' filled with the sea splashing
around the bed ; waves were heard as if surging and breaking
against the house, though it was a good bit inland.

Whilst this was taking place at the dying wrecker's bedside,
two men, who were about harvest work in one of his fields near
the cliff, heard a hollow voice, as if coming from the sea, which
said, " The hour is come but the man is not come."

Looking in the direction whence the words came, they saw no
person ; but far out to sea, they beheld a black, heavy, square-
rigged ship, with all sail set, coming fast in, against wind and
tide, and not a hand to be seen aboard her.

She came so close under cliff that only her topmast could be
seen ; when black clouds — that seemed to rise out of the deep —
gathered around her and extended thence straight to the dying
man's dwelling.

THE WRECKER AND THE DEATH SHIP. 249

The harvest-men, terrified at the sight of this ship-of-doom
so near them, ran up to the town-place, just as the old sinner died,
when his dwelling shook as if about to fall. Everybody, in great
fright, rushed out and saw the black clouds roll off towards the
death-ship, which, at once, sailed away — amidst a blaze of light-
ning— far over sea, and disappeared.

The weather immediately cleared, and nothing unusual occurred
until a few men assembled to put the wrecker's ghastly remains
quickly off the face of the earth ; then, as the coffin was borne
towards the churchyard, a large black pig came — no one knew
from whence — and followed the bearers, who all declared the
coffin was too light to contain any body. The sky, too, became
suddenly overcast, and a tempest raged to that degree, they could
scarcely keep on their legs to reach the churchyard stile, where
such sheets of blinding lightning flashed around them, that they
dropped the coffin and rushed into the church.

The storm having abated, they ventured out, and found
nothing of the coffin but its handles and a few nails, for it had
been set on fire, and all else consumed, by the lightning.

It does not appear what business the black pig had in the
funeral procession ; such is the way, however, in which the story
is always told.

THE SUN NEVER SHINES ON THOSE WHO HAVE
"SWORN AWAY A LIFE."

NE frequently hears, in remote country places, the
reproachful sayings of, " The sun wont shine on
thee," or, " the sun don't shine on thee." This is
regarded as a very bitter taunt, even by those who

do not understand its allusion or the old belief

from which it proceeds.

The following story, told me by an aged mine captain, of
Lelant, will serve to explain it.

A few years ago a smuggler of Breage gave false evidence,
which caused one of another crew to he hanged, on the charge
of having fired a fatal shot at an officer belonging to a revenue
cutter.

250 WEST COUNTRY SUPERSTITIONS.

This perjurer, who swore away an innocent man's life, received
— for informing — such a sum of blood money as made him com-
paratively rich, yet he remained at sea for several years, until he
came to live at Hayle. Few persons there knew him; but
everybody remarked that he looked deathly pale and shivered
with cold, however warm the weather might be. He lived alone
and rarely left his house to go beyond his garden, and his
neighbours said that when he stood out in " sunshiney "
weather he cast no shadow. They surmised that he had been
forsworn ; for he could never see the sun, and the sky always
appeared dark to him ; yet he saw everything else the same as
other people.

After his decease it became known how he had caused an
innocent man's death.

Notices of other popular superstitions may be found by a reference to the
Index.

A LEGEND OF PENGEKSEC.

So I your presence may enjoye,

No toil I will refuse ;
But wanting you, my life is death ;

Nay, death lid rather chuse.

FAIK KOSAMOND.

; ANY years ago an elderly gentleman of G-winear
told me the following story, which he had often
heard related by old folks of that parish and
Breage, about certain ancient occupants of Pen-
gersec; who dwelt there long before the present
castle was built by Milliton, who, according to their legend,
constructed his stronghold in the time of Henry VIII, out of the
ruins of a former castle which stood near the same site ; and of
which, they say, some out-works may still be traced towards the
sea.

My friend made a point of telling the story just as it was
related by old folks, and I wrote the greater part of it from his
recital.

It contains, however, too many details of dreadful crimes to
please general readers ; and as I think it right to give our old
stories unmutilated — so far as a due regard to decorum permits —
I hesitated about publishing it until advised to do so by friends
who thought it would interest antiquarian students.

The lords of old Pengersec Castle were all soldiers who rarely
lived at home. When the last lord's father was about twenty, as
there was no fighting going on hereabouts, he betook himself to
outlandish countries, far away in the east, to a place inhabited by
people who were little better than savages ; for, instead of tilling
the ground or digging for tin, they passed their time roving from
place to place as they wanted fresh pastures for their cattle.
They lived in tents covered with the skins of their flocks, and
their raiment was made of the same material ; yet these heathen
worshippers of Termagaunt got plenty of gold and precious
things, by sending their young men to fight, for or against, or to
rob their more industrious neighbours who dwelt in houses, tilled
the ground, and followed trades.

252 A LEGEND OF PENGERSEC.

Well, Pengersec went to war with these pagans, for or against,
we don't know nor care which, no more did he, so that he was

Whilst there, however, he fell in love with a beautiful Princess
of the people who dwelt in towns.

He wished to carry her off, but he couldn't, because she
was betrothed to a Prince of that country and jealously watched ;
yet Pengersec often found means to visit the lady in the dead of
night ; and about the time he left to return home she bore him a
child, which was "put going" (made away with). In spite of
all, the Princess would then have followed him, had he not
vowed to return for her soon, or if, in the meanwhile, the old
king, her father, died — and not having male offspring — he
would marry her there and reign in his stead.

Then she took off her finger-ring, broke it, and gave him half,
saying, ' ' when this you see, remember your love in a far country ; "
and he swore by all she held sacred to remain unwed for seven
years unless he married her.

Shortly after his return home, however, he espoused a fair
lady of Helaston. There being no signs of his wife's likelihood
to present him with an heir — after having been married a year
or two — he became very dissatisfied ; and hearing of new wars
in the east he returned — before seven years had elapsed — to the
country where the former Princess — now a Queen — reigned in
her own right.

He renewed their former connection — taking good care not to
tell her he had a wife at home— and led her troops to war
against the Prince who would have had his Queen and her
dominions but for him.

She lent Pengersec her father's enchanted sword — a magic
weapon that brought success to the rightful possessor — and
fought by his side ; yet they were conquered ; and the Cornish
rover missed his lady-love in their confused retreat; when, to
save himself, as best he could, he took ship for home and left her
to her fate.

Now the Queen escaped to a port where she had many
vessels, and knowing that Pengersec's castle was near a place
to which they often went for tin, she embarked with an aged
captain and set sail for the Mount, hoping that if the man she
trusted and loved above all in heaven or earth had escaped
with life, she would find him in his native land.

Meanwhile the treacherous lover had returned and found his
wife with an infant at the breast ; he blamed her because she
had not informed him of her state before he left home. In reply,
she told him how she feared to raise his hopes, not being sure
they would be realized.

THE WHITE HARE. 253

Ho had scarcely settled himself comfortably in his castle with
his wife and his son — of whom he was very fond — when, one
night, the Queen knocked at his gate. In her arms she held a
babe that had been born at sea ; weeping, she showed it to its
father who refused to admit her within his doors. " What can
have possessed thee to follow me here thou crazy saracen," said
he, " know that I've many years been wed." " Cruel man, dos
thou spurn thy little son and me from thy doors," she replied,
"now that I am in this strange land poor and needy." Not
wishing the inmates of his dwelling to hear or see any more of
the strange lady, he led her away down by the sea-side. There,
standing on a cliff, she reproached him with being a faithless,
perjured lover; with having stolen the magic sword, on which
the safety of her land depended; and with being the cause
of all her misfortunes. He threatened to drown her unless she
promised to return at once to her own country. ' ' Alas ! I have no
longer a country," said she, "for thee I am become a disgrace
to my people, who scorn me," and raising her hand — as if to
curse him — she continued, ' ' but thou shalt no longer flourish ;
may evil meet thee and bad luck follow thee to the sorrowful end
of thy days."

Provoked at her upbraiding, he, in his fury, cast her over
cliff, into the deep, with the infant that she clasped to her breast.

Shortly after she was found floating lifeless on the waves, with
the babe asleep in her arms, by the captain and crew of her
ship, who, fearing she might be unkindly received, wished to
accompany her, but preferring to meet her roving lover alone,
she bade them remain in the boat, near where she landed, at a
short distance from his castle.

The Queen's remains were taken to her native land, and the
good captain reared her child, which passed for his own son.

This old tiger of a Pengersec spent much of his time in hunt-
ing wolves, which were numerous then ; the following day he
was in full chase on Tregonning hill until night, when a
violent storm arose. By the lightning's glare he saw, cowering
around him, a drove of wild animals, that dreaded the awful
thunder-storm more than they did the hunter and his dogs.
Presently appeared among them a white hare, with eyes like
coals of fire, then the dogs and savage beasts ran away howling
louder than the tempest ; the horse threw its rider and left him
alone on the hill with the white hare that Pengersec knew to be
the vengeful spirit of the murdered lady.

Search being made next day he was found on the hill more
dead than alive from the effects of his fall and fright.

Worst of all he had lost the enchanted sword, with which he
could save his life in any encounter. This mishap troubled him

v

254 A LEGEND OF PENGERSEC.

much, for, when in possession of this charmed weapon, he
thought it mere fun to lop off the heads of those who offended
him ; but now he became a coward and dreaded to go beyond his
castle gate without a priest beside him.

Indeed, he could never leave his dwelling but the white hare
would cross his path. When the priests vainly tried to dispose of
her — like other spirits — in the Red Sea, she assumed her natural
shape and told them not to think they had power to bind or loose
her like the spirits of those who had been in their hands from
their cradle to the grave ; moreover, that she wouldn't be
controlled by them or their gods, but, to please herself, would
quit the place until her son came to man's estate.

Pengersec's cruel treatment of his wife shortened her days ;
she soon died, leaving her unweaned child, called Marec, to be
nursed by the miller's wife, who shared her breast between the
young heir and her son Uter.

Many years passed during which Pengersec seldom went
beyond his castle that he had almost entirely to himself ; a few
old servants only remained in the gloomy habitation, out of
regard to the young master, that he might be properly instructed
and cared for. Marec, when about twenty years of age, excelled in
all manly exercises ; being a good seaman, as well as his constant
attendant and foster-brother Uter, they would steer their boat
through the roughest breakers, to aid a ship in distress, when
other men feared to leave the shore. His favourite pastime was
taming wild horses of the hills, in which he was said to have
remarkable skill.

About this time Pengersec recovered his wonted courage, so
far as to venture out to see the young men's sports, and to visit
Godolphin castle — a few miles off — where lived a rich lady whom
he wished his son to wed.

She had often seen Marec bear away the hurling-ball, win
prizes at wrestling and other games, and had ' a great desire for
him and more for the domain to which he was heir.

Although she was passable as to looks, and only a year or two
older than the young lord, he had no liking for her, because she
had the repute of being a sorceress. In all the country side it
was whispered that the damsel was too intimate with an old
witch of Fraddam, whose niece, called Venna, was the lady's
favourite waiting- woman.

They spent much time together distilling or otherwise con-
cocting what they named medicaments, though some called them
poisons; and many persons, believing the lady had evil eyes,
pointed at her with forked^ fingers to avert their baneful
influence.

Yet, from her affected horror of little failings, pretended pity

THE STEP-DAME. 255

for those whom she slandered by insinuations, and her constant
attendance at church, simple people, that she favoured, thought
her a good woman ; and crafty ones, from sympathy, were ever
ready to further her designs.

As the young man cared more about his sports than for the
lady, Pengersec did the courting — for his son at first — but
at length he married the damsel of Grodolphin himself.

They had not been long wedded, however, ere she became
disgusted with her old lord's gloomy fits, and, from seeing much
of Marec, her passion for him became too much for concealment.
Fearing lest she might betray her desires to her husband, she
shut herself up in her own apartments and, pretending to be ill,
sent for the witch of Fraddam, who soon discovered her ail-
ment.

The lady complained of her dreary life shut up in the lonesome
castle with her morose old husband, though he doted on her,
after his fashion. Having made him promise, before marriage, that
she and her children should inherit his lands and all he could
keep from his eldest son, it fretted her to find that, as yet, she
was not likely to become a mother. " Behave kinder to Marec,"
said the wise-woman, "that he and his comrades may cheer your
solitude."

" Never name the uncouth savage to me ! " exclaimed the lady,
" he would far rather chase wolves and ride wild horses around
the hills than pass any time, by day or by night, in a lady's
bower." The witch being skilled in making love-potions and
powders, after more converse, promised to send her a philter, by
the aid of which Marec would soon become her humble slave,
and pine for her love. The love-drink was fetched without delay
by Venna, who waited on her young master at supper and spiced
his ale ; but this was a mistake, for it should have been prepared
and served by the person in whose favour it was intended to
work.

The waiting-maid being a comely lass, and he a handsome
man, she forgot her duty to her mistress, when Marec — as the
custom was with gallant youths — pressed her to drink from his
tankard to sweeten it. The cordial and charms, that were
intended to move his affections in the lady's favour, ended in his
strolling on the sea-shore with her handmaid. The step-dame,
unable to rest, wandered down on the beach, where she espied
the loving pair in amorous dalliance. Her love turned to hate ;
without being seen by them, she returned and passed the night
in planning revenge.

In the morning early the enraged lady sought an interview
with her doting old husband, and told him that she wished to
return to her father's house, because she was pining for fresh

256 A LEGEJTD OF PEtfGEBSEC.

air, but dared not leave her room when his son was in the castle
for fear of being insulted by his unbecoming behaviour ; in fact,
she gave the old lord to understand — by hints, which might
mean little or much — that Marec then discovered such a passion
for her as she failed to inspire before her marriage.

Pengersec raved, and swore he would be the death of him
before many hours were passed ; at length, however, his fit of
anger having moderated, he assured his wife that he would get
him taken so far away that it would be long ere he returned to
trouble her, if ever he did.

This being agreed on, the lady somewhat pacified returned to
her own apartment, and summoned her woman to attend her.
Venna had no sooner entered the chamber than her mistress
pinned her in a corner, held a knife to her breast, and vowed to
have her heart's blood that instant — for her treachery in enticing
her young master to the sea-shore — unless she drank the contents
of a phial which she held to her lips.

" Have patience, my dear mistress," said she, " and I will
either explain to your satisfaction what seemeth false dealing
and disloyalty, or I'll drain this bottle of poison to the last
drop." Venna then told her mistress that she was only following
her aunt's instructions to get Marec into her toils, and — if other
means failed — induce him, in the dead of night, to visit her
chamber by the outer stair from the garden.

The woman also proposed to make other arrangements, of
which her mistress approved.

Then the pair devised how to get rid of the old lord speedily,
for — having excited his jealousy — they feared he might kill his
son, or send him from the country without delay.

They little thought, however, when they had decided to poison
him in the evening at his supper, that all their infernal plans
were overheard by the priest and steward, who had long
suspected the step-dame and her woman of hatching some plot
against the young master.

In Pengersec castle, as in many dwellings of that time, there
were private passages, contrived in the thickness of its walls.
Such places, being known only to the master and his confidential
servants, were frequently forgotten ; yet the priests, who were
skilled builders and great devisers of mysterious hiding-holes,
mostly knew where to find them.

From behind a perforated carving, in stone or wainscot, the
lady's wicked designs were found out. At supper, the old
steward, as was his custom, stood behind his master to hand him
the tankard of ale, that he drank with his venison pasty, and a
goblet of strong waters, that stood in a buffet — prepared and
spiced by the lady for her husband — beside one for herself, to

THE KESCUED SEAMAN. 257

take with the sweet waffels with which they finished their repast.
The hall being but dimly lighted by the fading twilight and a
fire on the hearth, the steward managed to distract the lady's
attention, when removing the tankard, by letting it fall and
spilling what remained in it on her robe, so that, without being
noticed, he exchanged the two drinking- vessels' contents, and the
lady took the poisoned draught which she had prepared for her
spouse.

But it had little or no effect on her for the time, because, to
guard against a mischance of this kind, she had long accustomed
herself to imbibe poisons, in increasing doses, until she could
stand a quantity that would be fatal to one not thus fortified.

After supper the priest informed Marec of the snares laid to
entrap him, and of the step-dame's murderous attempt on his
father.

The lady despaired of accomplishing her designs, as Marec
showed by his behaviour, that he regarded her with loathing.
One day, when she was more gracious to him than usual, and
made advances not to be misunderstood, looking on her with
contempt, he said, "Know, sorceress, that I detest thee and
abhor thy shameful intentions, but thou canst neither hurt me
by thy witchcraft, nor with the blight of thy evil eyes." She
made no reply, but left the hall and soon after told her spouse
that his son had most grossly insulted her. " Indeed," said she,
"I had to defend myself with all my might to preserve my
honour, and threatened to plunge a dagger into his heart unless
he desisted and left my apartment." Her fabricated story so
provoked the old lord that he determined to dispose of his son
without delay.

That evening, the weather being stormy, Marec and Uter
noticed, from Pengersec How, a vessel taking a course which
would bring her into dangerous ground; the young men
launched their boat, rowed towards the ship, and signalled that
there were sunken rocks ahead.

Night was now fast closing in, and the land could scarcely
be discerned through the mist, when the young men beheld
something floating at a little distance. On approaching it, they
aaw it to be a drowning seaman quite exhausted, and unable to
keep any longer on the surface; they pulled with might and
main and were just in time to save him. Having reached Pen-
gersec Cove, they bore him to Marec' s chamber, stripped off his
wet clothing, rubbed him dry, placed him in bed on sheep-skins,
and lay on either side that the warmth of their bodies might
help to restore him. At length his breathing became regular, and,
without speaking, he went off in sound sleep.

The rescued sailor awoke much restored and just as well as

258 A LEGEND OF PENGEKSEC.

need be, though surprised to find himself in a new berth with
strange shipmates — as he thought his two bed- fellows. He tried
to get out of bed and have a look round, when Marec well
pleased to see him so far recovered — related how they had taken
him into their boat the previous evening, when he was seemingly
at the last gasp.

The seaman — who was called Arluth — then said, that he
recollected having fallen from the "tops" into the water, and
endeavouring to keep himself afloat, in hopes of being seen from
his ship and rescued; but of what followed he had no re-
membrance. He also informed them that he was the son of a
captain of an eastern ship, which frequently traded at Cornish
ports ; fearing his father might be in great distress, from thinking
him drowned, he wished to get on board his ship as soon as
possible.

Uter fetched, from the butlery, beef, bread, and beer ; when
the sailor and his master sat beside each other he remarked that
they looked like twin brothers, from their close resemblance.

Having breakfasted, they took horses and — followed by the
dogs — started for Market-jew.

When they came out on uncultivated ground, Marec proposed
to hunt as they went along, that the seaman might have some
game to take aboard.

They had gone but a little way when a white doe started from a
thicket and ran towards the hills — followed by the hounds in full
cry. The sailor's horse being an old hunter, took after them, and
the rider, being an indifferent horseman, lost all control over
his steed, which bore him after the hounds near to the top of
Tregonning hill, where the doe disappeared and the dogs were at
fault.

The sailor alighted near the same earn where Pengersec had
been thrown from his horse many years agone. He had no
sooner put foot to ground than lightning struck the rocks close
by and they toppled over. Then he heard a voice — as if from
the ground — that said, "Fear not, Arluth, beloved son of mine,
to seize thy forefather's sword and with it win thy kingdom."

There was no one nigh him ; but, on glancing towards the earn,
he saw near it a beautiful white hare, which gazed lovingly on
him for a moment and then disappeared amongst the rocks.
On going to the spot, where the rocks had been severed, he
found a naked sword with sparkling jewels in its hilt, and the
blade shone like flame.

Arluth, having recovered from his surprise, took up the
sword, and, looking round, he saw Marec and Uter near him.
Surprised that it should be discovered in such a place, and at
what the seaman told him. Marec said, that as he had found

ARLUTH AND THE MAGIC SWORD. 259

the magic weapon, he was destined to achieve great things.

Arluth again thought of his father and shipmates, who, not
knowing if he were dead or alive would be in great trouble ; he
begged his companions to let him hasten to Market-jew, and
their horses soon took them thither. On parting the sailor
said he hoped to see his friends again ; they proposed to visit
him in the evening ; saw him embark in a boat and pull off to
his ship. The good captain was overjoyed to see him after
having mourned for him as dead.

Arluth related how he had been rescued ; drew the sword from
his belt and told the captain where he had found it, with what
he had Seen and heard on the hill. The captain having examined
it, said, "The time is come for me to declare that the only
relationship I Ibear thee is through my regard and loyalty to the
murdered Queen, thy mother." He then related to Arluth how
the Queen had lost her kingdom and magic sword, through her
ill-requited love for Pengersec ; and how he had saved him when an
infant. In conclusion the captain said, " Thou wilt now under-
stand, my son — let me still call thee so — how that the young
lord of Pengersec, who rescued thee last night, is thy brother.
Thy name, too — which was given thee by thy mother, as soon as
thou wast born — belongs to this country's tongue. The Queen,
having heard Lord Pengersec thus called by his Cornish
followers who attended him to her land, took that title to be one
of his names, and liked it best for thee."

The captain also told the wondering sailor that he would be
the acknowledged heir to their country, which had for many
years been rent with civil war between divers pretendants thereto,
among whom there was no one sufficiently powerful to secure
the throne, since the magic sword — on which their country's
safety in some way depended — had been lost, and reserved by
a protecting power for him.

"Now nothing more is wanting," said he, "to enable thee to
reclaim thy mother's dominions, and its people will gladly receive
thee to give peace to the distracted country."

The young sailor was much surprised by what the captain
related, and still more so when he said that about the time
Arluth was following the white doe Pengersec came on board
his ship and proposed to hire him and his crew to kidnap and
carry away his son and his servant, merely to gratify a step-
dame's spite. The captain said his only reply to the befooled
and unnatural father's proposal was to tell him he should never
leave his vessel alive if he spoke to one of his crew, and to order
him over the ship's side immediately.

Being stupified with grief, he didn't think, however, of
another vessel — then anchored at no great distance — that came

260 A LEGEND OF PENGEK8EC.

from a city where the people mostly lived by piracy ; the crew of
this ship — which sailed under any colour that suited their ends —
made it their business, among other things, to land in lonely
places, maraud the country, carry off young people, and sell them
in Barbary for slaves.

"Had I but thought of it in time," said the captain, "we
would have taken off Pengersec and given him a taste of the sea,
for I knew much more of him than he suspected." Having seen
Pengersec go on board and leave the pirate ship, the captain and
Arluth, knowing the gang would even murder their own brothers
for a trifle of gold, determined to watch their proceedings, and
rescue the young men if need be.

It was bargained between Pengersec and the pirates that, for
a small sum, they would kidnap his son and Uter, either when
they went out a-fishing — as was their practice almost nightly —
or land and steal them from the eastle.

Meanwhile, Arluth had arms placed in a boat; and when
twilight darkened into night he saw a boat leave the pirate ship.
" Now, may the gods help me ! " he exclaimed, springing up and
brandishing his sword, " my first use of this shall be to save my
brother." Arluth with several of his crew gave chase.

Marec and Uter, being on their way to the good captain's
ship, were encountered by the pirates, overpowered, and put in
irons, when their companion of the morning sprang into the
pirate's boat and cut in pieces every one of the gang.

Having released and embraced the captives, Arluth bore away
to the pirate ship, boarded her, hanged the rest of her crew,
and took the craft as a lawful prize; and a rich prize they
found her.

Arluth, having returned to the good captain's ship and
informed Marec and Uter how the old lord intended to serve
them, said, " Come with me and never more put foot in the
place whilst thy crafty step-mother's head is above ground."
Marec replied to the effect that he didn't like to go away until
he had furnished himself and Uter with money and needful
changes of clothing. "Don't touch a thing in the accursed
place," returned Arluth, "for you have a brother belonging to
the land whither we are bound, who will share his last stiver
with thee, and shed his heart's blood in thy defence. Nay,
brother, be not surprised," continued he, in drawing Marec to
him, "this brother of thine will ere long be king of the
country."

"Would to heaven thou wert my brother, thou heart-of-oak,
and I would joyfully go with thee to any land," replied Marec.

The captain gave the young men of Pengersec a cordial
welcome, set before them the richest wines in his ship, and —

THE OLD LORD'S END. 261

smiling with satisfaction to see the brothers' attachment, and
Marec's puzzled look — he related to him the history of his
father's exploits, which had been told to Arluth, for the first
time, only a few hours before.

Marec had been altogether ignorant of much that the old
commander related of his father's youthful adventures; he
rejoiced, however, to find a brother in Arluth, and to go with
him, he cared not whither. Uter had such a strong regard for
his master that he would gladly accompany him to the world' s-end.

Arluth, having taken command of the captured pirate ship,
with his brother for mate — Uter, and a few hands spared from
the other vessel, as his crew — they at once made sail.

Whilst the two ships go sailing on, with clear skies and
favouring gales, we will return, for a brief space, to Pengersec.
About the time they got under way, the priest was told that
the old lord had during the day been on board two eastern
vessels; the good man, fearing this visit portended mischief,
watched all night for Marec. When morning dawned, there
being no appearance of the young men nor their boat — and the
ships having left the bay — he sought Pengersec; found him
and his wife, early as it was, in the hall. The priest and steward
accused the lady of having conspired with her woman and others
to destroy her step-son and husband. Venna, being summoned,
turned against her mistress ; the old lord, seeing how he had been
fooled, ordered both women to be cast into the dungeon, mounted
his horse and rode in all haste to Market-jew to see if any craft
might be procured to sail after the departed ships and recover
his son. Finding nothing there to the purpose, he returned at
nightfall — distracted with remorse and rage — fully determined
to hang his wife and her woman from the highest tower of his
castle.

On nearing the thicket, from which the doe started on the
preceding day, out sprang the white hare with flaming eyes, right
in face of his horse ; the terrified steed turned, galloped down to
the shore, and, to escape the pursuing hare, took to sea. Neither
the horse nor its rider were evermore seen.

The lady was released by her father's people; she became
covered with scales, like a serpent — from the effects of the poison
she had taken it was supposed — and she was shut up, as a loath-
some object, in a dark room of Godolphin.

Venna escaped to her aunt the witch of Fraddam. The old
lord having confessed, in his anguish, how he had disposed of his
son and Uter, the people of Pengersec supposed they were taken
to Barbary and sold as slaves ; hoping, however, to discover them,
the old servants took good care of everything, in order to save
money and effect his ransom.

262 A LEGEND OF PENGERSEC.

The two ships kept as near as might be on their voyage ; and
it was noticed that a ( beautiful white bird followed them from
Mount's Bay ; it often came within bow-shot but no one dared to
aim a shaft at it, for the eastern mariners believed it to be the
spirit of a departed friend who guarded them from harm.

Marec frequently passed to the old captain's vessel, when they
were becalmed, for he liked much to hear him tell of eastern
magicians and the wonderful things they did.

Having arrived at their destined port, they found their country
in great disorder from the war waged by many pretenders to the
throne, as before stated by the old commander. He had no sooner,
however, presented to the people the young man, whom they had
long known as his son, and related to them the history of his
birth, and of the recovered magic sword, than they all flocked to
Arluth's standard and proclaimed him their king. .

Arluth but little valued his new dominions at first, and would
have preferred the command of a good ship. Yet, to please
his people, he consented to rule them, and soon became fully
occupied with th,e cares of his government, which he regulated
like the prudent captain of a well-ordered ship ; he would have
no idle hands nor waste of stores in his dominions.

King Arluth wished his brother to live with him as chief mate
and adviser, and offered to dwell in any place he might choose, so
it was near their principal port, that he might superintend the
traffic.

Marec was loath to part with his brother, but his fancy was
so fired with what the captain told him about a people, living
near them, who were skilled in magic, that he ardently desired
to visit their country, and, if possible, acquire some of their ex-
traordinary wisdom.

Arluth, on becoming acquainted with his wishes, furnished a
vessel with such merchandise as would meet with a ready sale in
the wise-men's country ; equipped his brother in every way
becoming his rank, and dispatched him and Uter under the care
of trustworthy persons.

Marec remained a long while studying among the magicians,
and learned many curious arts, unknown in western lands. He
also married a beautiful and rich lady, who was gifted with
many rare accomplishments, and Uter wedded her favourite
damsel.

In about three years, the old captain — who, in the meantime,
had made a voyage to Market-jew for tin — came to the sage's
country on purpose to inform Marec that his father had long
been dead, and how the people on his estate had sent him money
and wished for his speedy return.

Pengersec's heart then yearned for his home and his people ; he

HOME AGAIN. 263

told his wife how in the pleasant land, towards the setting sun,
gentle showers descended, all summer long, like dews distilled
from Heaven, and kept the fields ever verdant; how crops
succeeded crops throughout the year, which was like a perpetual
spring compared with the arid land in which they then dwelt.
He said how hills and dales were covered with fat herds in that
happy land, whose inhabitants had not to hunt half-starved wild
animals for their subsistence, but only followed the chase for
pastime; how by a process, unknown in other lands, a liquor
was there brewed from grain, which made those who drank it
as strong as giants and brave as lions ; how the Cornish people
merely washed the soil of their valleys and found metals — more
precious than silver or gold.

" That is the tin, to obtain which your eastern mariners make
their longest and most dangerous voyages," said Pengersec — as
we shall now call Marec — "besides," continued he, "I have a
strong and fair castle in a green valley by the sea; I will build thee
a bower by the murmuring shore, where we will have delightful
gardens and everything for pleasure." "Say no more, my
beloved, about the delights of thy land," she replied, "for I
shall little regard that when thou art by; thy home shall be
mine wherever thou choosest to dwell ; and whenever it pleaseth
thee let us depart."

After procuring many magical books and other things,
necessary for the practice of occult sciences, Pengersec and his lady,
with Uter and his spouse, took leave of the sages and made sail
for home.

On the way, Pengersec stayed some time with King Arluth,
who presented him with a foal of the choicest stock of his
country ; he also sent on board, unknown to his brother, bales
of brocade, and various rich stuffs of gold and silver tissue,
besides pearls, precious stones, and other valuable things ; and,
promising to revisit each other, they took loving leave.

The lady passed much time on deck playing on her harp, its
sweet music kept the weather fair, drew dolphins and other fishes
from the depths of the sea to sport around and follow the ship to
Mount's Bay; thence it came to pass that on our coast were
found many rare fishes — never before seen here.

"When the young lord and his beautiful bride landed at
Market-jew, the people — one and all — came from near and far
away to welcome them. Bonfires blazed on every hill ; weeks
were passed in feasting at Pengersec, where archery, hurling,
slinging, wrestling, and other games were carried on that the
fair stranger might see our Cornish sports ; at night, minstrels
and droll-tellers did their utmost to divert the company.

The lady of the castle took much delight in her new home ;

264 A LEGEND OF PENGERSEC.

she often passed the mornings with her husband in hunting ; she
rode over moors and hills with a hawk on her wrist or a bow in
her hand. At eve her harp would be heard in Pengersec towers
sending joyous strains over sea and land ; then fishermen would
rest on their oars, and sea-birds — forgetting their nightly places
of rest in the western cleeves — remained entranced around the
castle.

The people were much pleased with the outlandish lady, who
admired, their unbounded hospitality to strangers, their primitive
manners, simplicity of heart, and sincerity of intention ; for they
appeared to her as absolutely ignorant of fraud or flattery, as if
they had never heard of such a thing ; she found them to be of
a free, facetious temper, though of a somewhat curious and
inquisitive disposition — the women especially.

The lady thought our ancient language sounded much like her
eastern tongue, and that made her feel all the more at home.

Pengersec was no sooner fairly settled than he built two broad
and lofty towers — united by a gallery — on the seaward sidev of
his castle. The easternmost tower was constructed with every-
thing requisite for his magic art ; in the other were placed his
lady's private apartments, overlooking pleasant gardens, the
green glen, and boundless ocean.

When Pengersec returned, his step-mother was still immured
in her dark chamber. In a little while, however, she fretted
herself to death, and the breath no sooner left her body than she
returned to haunt the rooms formerly occupied by her in the
castle. Pengersec had that portion of the building at once
rased to the ground, but her hideous ghost still continued to
wander about the place.

Now it was that the young lord essayed the power of his art
to some purpose, for, by his enchantment, he confined her to a
hole in a headland, west of Pengersec Cove, called the How,
and compelled her to assume the form of an uncommonly large
adder, in which shape she is still occasionally seen there, if what
people of that neighbourhood say, be true.

Over -a few years, Pengersec became so much attached to
occult sciences that he devoted nearly all his time to their
practice ; he was seldom seen beyond his castle, and, even there,
he almost continually shut himself up in his tower, where he was
never approached except by his lady and Uter, both of whom
assisted him in such operations as required help. Fires would
be seen — through loop-holes in his tower — blazing all night
long ; and the flames ascended high above the battlements when
he changed base metals into silver and gold.

If his fire happened to go out he rekindled it by sparks drawn
from the sun, by means of a magic crystal. "With the same glass,

HOW THE ENCHANTER SERVED A THIEF. 265

or another, he also saw what was being done in distant lands.

A person, who came from far to see the magician's wonders,
on looking into or through this glass, beheld in the castle-court
what appeared to be an uncommonly large bird carrying in its
mouth a baulk of timber ; on taking away the glass he could
only see a duck with a straw in her bill.

Pengersec paid no attention to his farms, which were left to
liter's management; the lord, indeed, had no reason to care
about them whilst he could make gold in abundance.

But this untold riches was about the least important fruit of his
science, for — ere he became middle-aged — he concocted a magical
elixir, or water-of-life, which preserved him, his lady, and others
in their youthful vigour.

The lord of Pengersec was soon renowned in all the west as a
most powerful enchanter, whom everybody feared to molest — and
well they might. Some one from the Mount, having a mind to
his fat sheep, carried one of them down to the cliff, tied its legs
together, and passed them over his head. At this instant, how-
ever, the enchanter, happening to glance at his magic glass, saw
what was taking place, and put a spell on the thief that made
him remain in the same spot all the night with the tide rising
around him and the sheep hanging from his neck. The enchanter
released the thief in the morning and gave him the sheep with a
caution not to meddle with his flocks again or he would be served
out worse.

'Tis said, too, that Venna, who was now a noted wisewom or
witch — living at St. Hillar Downs — often had contests with- the
enchanter to test the relative powers of their familiars ; they
contended with spells and counter-spells from mere pride of art.
We omit the details because they would merely be a repetition
of much that has been related in the foregoing stories of witch-
craft and pellar-craft.

At times the lord would be seen careering over moors and
hills, mounted on his handsome mare, brought from the east ;
she excelled every other steed for swiftness ; a whisper from him
would make her as docile as a lamb, though she was quite un-
manageable with everybody else.

The castle servants were frequently alarmed by hearing the
enchanter conjuring, in an unknown tongue, the unruly spirits
that he required to serve him ; or by loud explosions. Pungent
and fiery vapours, that threatened to consume the building, often
sent their strong odours for miles around. At such times the
frightened inmates sought their lady's aid ; who, on taking her
harp to the enchanter's tower, soon drove away or subdued the
evil spirits by the power of its melody. One time the magician
left his furnaces and their fires to the care of his attendant

w

266 A LEOEXD OF PEXGERSEC.

whilst lio -went to pass a while in his lady's bower ; he had not
been long there when something told him that mischief was
taking place in his tower. On hastening thither he found
the attendant, Uter, had neglected his duty ; and, by reading in
one of the magical books, had called up evil spirits in such
numbers that in another instant they would have destroyed him ;
and it required all the enchanter's power to subdiie them.

Many years elapsed. The lord had a numerous family — of
whom he took little heed. Some of them were settled on farms,
others had been adopted by their uncle, King Arluth, who
frequently sent his brother rare drugs, spices, and other things,
required by him for making his precious liquor of life. The
lady, having outlived all her children and grand-children,
became weary of existence in a world, or amidst a people, that
seemed strange to her — all those of her own age being long
dead — and wishing to rest with her children, though loath to
leave her husband, she often begged him to discontinue
prolonging his life ; and he — as on former occasions, for the last
hundred years or so — always promised her to leave the world
when he had perfected some new essay of his art, which was all
in all to him. His wife, however, neglected to take the life-
cordial, and, at length, rested beneath the sod.

Their numerous descendants were known — as the custom was
then — by the names of places on which they dwelt ; only one of
them is particularly mentioned by name in the legend ; this was
a lady, who lived in Pengersec Castle at the time that a Welsh
Prince, from having heard of the Cornish magician's renown,
came over to him for instruction, and before his departure
married the beautiful Lamorna, who was the sage's great-grand-
daughter.

The Welsh Prince, having sent a quantity of black stones to
Pengersec, he extracted from them a sort of liquid-fire, which,
by some mismanagement, burst its containing vessels, and an
instant afterwards all was in flames. The magician was con-
sumed with all his books and treasures; the castle and all
it held destroyed, leaving nothing but the bare walls.

It is said that Venna, the witch, prolonged her life also —
withmit the aid of Pengersec' s elixir — by merely enticing to her
habitation, and keeping there, goats and young people. From
them, by some means of her craft, she (brew their youthful
vigour to herself and caused them to pine and die. This wicked
practice of hers having being discovered, young folks were
carefully kept oxit of her reach ; and to prevent her from doing
any more mischief, one night when she was brewing her hell-
broth, and the flames were seen rising high, the people — to
prevent her escape — nailed up her door ; put a turf over her

AN ASTROLOGER OF SENNEN. -267

chimney-top, and smothered her in the infernal vapours that
arose from her hearth.

All the chief people of the story are ended ; but had it not been
for Pengersec's untoward accident he might have lived to this day.

We have preserved in the foregoing what may seem to many
persons mere childish fancies ; if, however, the same incidents
should be found in the folk-lore of other lands, they will have
an interest for those whose leisure and learning enabled them to
trace our popular tales to their fountain-head.

An old tinner of Lelant, who told me the story of " Tom and
the giant Denbras," brought into it the incident of Pengersec
enchanting a "giant of the Mount" that came to steal his cattle.
Much the same story is still told in Sennen of an astrologer, and
a reputed conjuror, called Dyonysious Williams, who lived in
Mayon about a century ago. This gentleman found that his furse-
rick was diminishing much faster than could be accounted for,
from the ordinary consumption of fuel in his own house. He con-
sulted his books, and discovered by his art that some women, of
Sennen Cove, made it a practice of carrying away his furse
every night. The very next night, after all honest folks should
be in their beds, an old woman of the Cove came, as usual, to his
rick for a " burn" of furse. She made one of no more than the
usual size, which she tried to lift on to her back, but found that
she could not move it. She then took out half the furse, but was
still unable to lift the small quantity that remained in her rope.
Becoming frightened, she tried to get out the rope and run, but
found that she had neither the power to draw it out nor to move
from the spot herself. Of course the conjuror had put a spell on
her, and there she had to remain throughout the cold winter's
night until Mr. Williams came out in the morning and released
her from the spell. As she was a very poor old soul, he let her
have a burn of furse ; but she took good care never to come any
more, nor did the other women who soon found out how she had
been served.

NOTES, ILLUSTRATIVE ANECDOTES, &c.

MIRACLE PLAYS, CHRISTMAS PLAYS, &c. Page 1.

accounts published last spring of Miracle Plays
being acted in Yorkshire, by a company of Congre-
gationalists under the direction of a Roman Catholic
priest, would seem to indicate a primitive state of
society in the north — good feeling and sympathy
between members of old mother church and the followers of new
lights; and that Yorkshire folks are as much attached to
ancient customs as are the Cornish, or even more. Mummery,
and the acting of such old Christmas plays as St. George and
the Dragon, with the King of Egypt and Fair Sabra his
daughter, were favourite pastimes in the northern counties long
after they fell into disuse in other parts except Cornwall. These
old plays, like our guise-dances, are of very remote origin, and
founded probably on the old mysteries now reproduced in York-
shire; the subject of St. George being introduced at the time of
the Crusades. And, if tradition may be credited, our old guise-
dances were also often founded on more homely and familiar
legends, and these formed the connecting link between old
mysteries and the modern drama.

The subject of miracle plays is interesting to us because
almost the only remains of ancient Cornish literature are
mystery plays. One of them, " The Creation of the World," by
William Gordon, of Helstone, in 1611, has been published by
the late Mr. Davies Gilbert. Others, of earlier date, have been
translated and published by Mr. Norris, to which we may add
St. Meriseck, lately translated by Mr. Whitley Stokes. Many of
our ancient amphitheatres, where the " Guary miracle " used to
be acted — still exist, as the "Round," or plain, in St. Just
Church-town ; the Plan-an-guary, Redruth ; and others farther
eastward. In this age of restoration (would it were also one of
restitution) these old Plan-an-guaries should be rebuilt and
restored as public places of recreation, common to all.

We know that miracle plays continued to be performed in the
western parishes during Queen Elizabeth's reign, and probably
much later. A short time ago, William Sandys, Esq., F.S.A.,

MIRACLE PLAYS, CHRISTMAS PLAYS, ETC. 269

published in his learned paper, entitled the "Cornish Drama," in
the "Journal of the Royal Institution of Cornwall," an extract
from a MS. volume, entitled, "A Book declaring the Royalties of
which Sir John Arundell, of Lanhern, and his ancestors, have
had within the Hundred of Pen with," &c. which sayeth that —

"Ao. 10, E. John Veal of Boraine, gentleman, of the age of
78. Sworn at a Court holden at Penzance the 20th day of
June, Ano decimo E., by William Gilbert, under Steward of the
Hundred Court of Penwyth, being upon his oath examined
touching the liberties of Connerton, and the Hundred of Pen-
wyth appendant unto the same manor, saith that when he was a
Boy of good remembrance his grandfath. and his Father both
dwelling then at Sancras, within the hundred of Penwyth, did
see one Sr. John Trwrye (or Trevrye) knight, a sanctuary man at
St. Borains, which had committed some great offence then
against the King, and thereupon committed to the Tower, and
by means of a servant which he had, broke prison and came into
Cornwall to St. Borian, and claimed the priviledge of the
Sanctuary. It fortuned within a while after there was a mirable
(sic) Play at Sanckras Parish, divers men came to the play amongst
whom came a servant of this Mr. Trevrye, named Quenall and
(in the place before the play began) the said Quenall fell at
variance with one Richard James Veane, and so both went out
of the Play and fought together, the said Quenall had a sword
and a buckler, and the other had a single sword, the said
Quenall was a very tall man in his Fight, the other gave back
and fell over a mole Hill, and ere he could recover himself the said
Quenall thrust his sword through him and so he immediately dyed,
and Quenall taken and bound to the end of the Play and before the
Play was done his Mastr. hearing thereof came to the Place with
other Sanctuary men and by force would have taken him away from
his said Grandfather, Mr. Veal, and others, but he was not able
so to do, but with a sufficient Guard he was carried to Conertone
Gaol, where he was after hanged on the Gallows in Conerton
Down; and so was more in his time, for there was no prisoner
then carried to Launston Gaol."

It will be observed that the name of the parish where the
miracle play "fortuned" to be held is, in this interesting
document, spelt as the country folk still pronounce it — Sanckras.
The name has been much speculated on, and antiquaries are un-
decided whether the proper designation is Sancreed, Sancrist ;
Sancrus, or Sancras, (both holy cross.) Now it happens, how-
ever, that the learned antiquary, to whom we are indebted for
the above, has also preserved in his interesting work, " Christ-
mas-tide," another legend which we think will throw some light
on the matter and show that the popular name is probably

270 NOTES, ILLUSTRATIVE ANECDOTES, ETC.

correct ; or that, like many other places, it has long rejoiced in
two names.

"There is a curious story on the subject, (the true cross)
related in Harl. MS., 2252 (temp. Hen. 8) entitled, 'A grete
myracle of a knyghte, callyde Syr Eoger Wallysborrow.' Being
in the Holy Land, he wished to bring off privily a piece of the
cross, and, praying to that effect, his thigh opened miraculously,
and received it. He then returned to Cornwall, his native
country, having, in the course of his voyage, by virtue of the
fragment of the cross, appeased the elements, and prevented
shipwreck. On his arrival his thigh opened to liberate the precious
relic, of which he gave part to the parish where this happened,
hence called Cross parish, and the remainder to St. Buryan,
where his lands were."

Those who came to Sancras play got more entertainment than
was promised in the bill. And Carew, in his " Survey of the
County," gives an anecdote of the stupidity, feigned or real, of a
performer in the Plan-an-guary, St. Just, that afforded much
amusement. It having come his turn, the ordinary, or manager,
said, "Goe forthe men, and show thyselfe." Tho actor stepped
forward and gravely repeated, " Goe forthe man, and shew
thyselfe." The ordinary, in dismay, whispered to him, "Oh, you
marre all the play ! " The actor, in very emphatic gesture,
repeated aloud, " Oh, you marre all the play ! " The prompter,
then losing his patience, reviled the actor with all the bitter
terms he could think of, which the actor re.pfjilfd M ith a serious
countenance as part of the play. The ordinary was at last
obliged to give over, the assembly having received a great deal
more sport than twenty such guaries could have afforded.

We are become too fastidious and pious to be amused with such
rude entertainment as the old guary miracles afforded to our
simple forefathers. One might even think parts of these ancient
dramas irreverent, if not profane; for example, a scene in
Noah's flood, where the venerable patriarch and his wife have a
scuffle because she wouldn't enter the ark before she had a
gossip, with another dame, about a piece of anti-diluvian scandal.
She swears by St. John that she will not enter the ark without
her gossips, every one ;- and, when she is at last forced in, she
;-n lutes Noah with a hearty box on the ear. In the Cornish
Mystery of the Creation of the World, by Jordan, the lady is
much more civil, and, like a thrifty Cornish housewife, is very
careful to collect all her property, because, as she says, "they
cost store of money." No doubt she took good care to carry into
the ark all her milking-pans and bussa-pots, as well as temberan
things and gaard for scouring them, not forgetting her brandes
and baking-iron, and the dome in the dresser.

MIRACLE PLAYS, CHBISTMAS PLAYS, ETC. 271

In one of the Townly Mysteries, Mak^ the buffoon of the piece,
steals a sheep from the shepherds, -while they are asleep, and
takes it home to his wife, who puts it into the cradle, endeavour-
ing to make it pass for a child, and praying that if ever she
beguiled the shepherds, who have come in search of it, she may
eat the child lying there. The trick, however, is discovered.
One of the shepherds going to kiss the child, finds the long
snout.

There are many other comic passages in these mysteries, which
would now be considered rather gross than witty. Yet, with all
that and their ludicrous anachronisms, those who take an
interest in ancient manners and customs will be gratified by
their perusal.

Mr. Sandys, in the work from which we have largely quoted,
also gives us the following interesting bit of information : —

"In 1428, a sum of four pounds was given to Jakke Trevaill
and his companions, for making various plays and interludes
before the king at Christmas."

Surely Jakke and his comrades went up from. St. Just or
Sancras, to show king Henry VI what a Cornish guise-dance
was like.

The re-introduction of mediaeval mysteries and other middle-
age mummeries, as well as the federation of extreme religionists,
is a curious and significant sign of these times, in which all
unite to pleasantly "trickle the trout," or to extend the good
work, as parties of different views may choose to regard this rare
union of extreme links.

THE LEVELIS, OF TREWOOF.

Trewoof (or as it is now called Trove) was formerly the seat of
a family of gentlemen bearing that name, who gave for their
arms "Arg a chev, sa between 3 black birds (hoops) ppr."

This family, flourished here from a very remote period, and we
find that as early as 1292 (12 Edwd. I.) one Hawise Trewoof,
the relict of William de Trewoof, intermarried with Henry de
Boscawen, of Boscawen Rose (ancestor of the noble family of
Boscawen Earls of Falmouth.) Trewoof and Boscawen Eose are
both in the parish of St. Buryan, and less than two miles
apart.

The estate continued in the possession of the Trewoofs until the
reign of Henry VII, when Johanna, daughter and sole heiress
of John Trewoof, "carried" it, together with herself, in
marriage to Thomas Levelis, of Castle Horneck and Landewed-
uack.

The Levelis family was of very old Norman descent, and had

272 NOTES, ILLUSTRATIVE ANECDOTES, ETC.

flourished in the district from the Conquest (1066) as appears
from the monument of Arthur Levelis, Esquire, to be seen in
Buryan Church.

The arms of this family are given as "Arg 3 calves' heads
couped at the neck, gules." The crest given in the Visitation is
"A garretted turrett, or, surmounted with 3 turretts or small
towers." In Landewednack Church window, easternmost but
one, says Dr. Borlase, " I find that Thomas Levelis, who glazed
ye window, bore arg 3 calves' heads in pile gules. His wife's
arms were arg a chev betwixt 3 hoops sable."

The learned doctor further adds, "I find also that Levelis
arms, spelt there Levelys, are married to the arms of the Tre-
woofs and have no third bearing : whence it is to be conjectured
that the Levelys of Landewidnock marryed Trewoof at the time
when that window was glassed, that this Trewoof glassed it, that
the Levelys passed from this parish of Landewidnock to Trewoof
in Buryan on this marriage of the heiress, that Levelys married
an heiress also from Landewidnock (viz., heiress of Archer,) for
Arthur, buried in Buryan, quartered in the 3rd place sable a
chevron engrailed betwixt 3 pheons arg, with the same arms are
still to be seen joyned to arg on a fess sable 3 buckles, or, in the
same window of Landewidnock Church which has the Levelys
and Trewoofs in it."

Thomas Levelis settled at Trewoof, and, by the said Jane or
Johanna, daughter of John Trewoof, has issue a son and heir —
John Levelys, whose posterity in the male line were settled at
Trewoof until the death of Arthur Levelis (fifth in descent from
the said Thomas Levelis,) which took place in 1671.

Arthur Levelis, like his wife's father, John Cooke, or Coke, of
Tregessa, was a zealous Royalist ; and an instance of his* loyalty
is recorded at page 134 of Mr. Blight's Churches of West
Cornwall; he having concealed a band of Royalists in the fogue
on the estate on their being closely pursued by Fairfax.

Mr. Levelis, through his mother — Ebit Coffin, daughter of
Richard Coffin, of Portledge, Devon, Esquire (and wife of Hugh
Levelis) — was enabled to deduce a descent from Edward I., King
of England, through the noble families of De Bohun, Courtenay,
Carey, and Coffin.

Of this descent his posterity were proud, and it has been
urged as one reason for their devoted loyalty. Arthur Levelis
had only one child — a daughter, the issue of his marriage with
the daughter of John Coke of Tregessa; and this daughter
became the sole heiress of the Levelis family and estates. She
married Richard Vosper, gentleman, then residing in St. Buryan,
who had accumulated a considerable fortune and was mortgagee
of divers estates in the west of Cornwall.

DUFFY AND HEB DEVIL*S NAME. 273

There was issue of this marriage several children.

Mr. Vosper had formerly resided at Liskeard, where his
family had been seated for very many years, and in which town
they held a good position, as will be seen by a reference to the
Borough muniments.

The Vospers claim to be of Jewish origin, and settled in Corn-
wall at an early date. For some time they were engaged in
mining operations.

The meaning of the name "Vosper," or Vespuer," is "pure,"
"immaculate." And in an old seal, in the possession of the
family, there is a boat on which is a cross charged with the
Virgin. But on the title deeds in possession of the family, to
which Arthur Vosper (son and heir of the said Richard Vosper,
of Trewoof, was a party,) there is a quarterly seal of the
Vospers and Levelis as follows : — 1 and 4 or, a cross moline
sable, Vosper ; 2 and 3, or, 3 calves' heads, couped gules, Levelis.
This coat, appertaining to the said Eichard Vosper, his descen-
dants still continue to bear, and the same now appertains to the
Vospers, formerly of Launcells, Milton Abbott, and Lewannick.

Trewoof estate passed, unentailed, to Arthur Vosper, the
eldest son and heir-at-law, who married Elisabeth Eyans, of
Eyanstone, Oxon, and this gentleman having been unfortunately
drowned in 1679 in the Isis, the property passed to his two
daughters and co-heirs — Elisabeth and Prudence.

The former of these subsequently married Joseph Marke, of
Woodhill, near Liskeard, gentleman, and jointly with her sister
1699, disposed of the property, contrary to the wish of their
cousin, Mr Vosper, of Liskeard and Launcells.

Prudence was afterwards married to Mr. Dennis, of Liskeard.

The late John Vosper, of Milton Abbott and Callington,
gentleman, who died in 1796, was one of the representatives of
Mr. Vosper, of Liskeard and Launcells.

So also was the late Thomas Vosper, of Alternon.

Mr. Vosper, of Milton Abbott, had issue several sons ; one of
whom, Robert, was grandfather of the present Samuel Vosper-
Thomas, of Wimborne.

Another Edward Vosper, of Stonehouse, Devon, gentleman,
was grandfather of Thomas Phillips, of Plymouth, gentleman,
the present magistrates' clerk for Plymouth.

DUFFY AND THE DEVIL. Page 3.

An old droll teller of Sancreed, called Billy Foss, used to
relate a story very similar to that of the guise-dance ; he made
no mention, however, in his droll, of any family names, nor of

274 NOTES, ILLUSTRATIVE ANECDOTES, ETC.

any particular place in which the " Lord " dwelt, who married a
poor girl ; but her name was Duffy ; and the demon who worked
for her, and who was also fooled by a witch through strong
drink, was called Tarraway. Billy used to say, " Some who
know no better, call Duffy's devil Terrytop ; but his ancient and
proper name is Tarraway."

PENDRE AND BARANHUAL. Pages 63, 73, and 94.

This place gave name to the family of Pendrea, or Pender.
Hals says, "John Pendrea, the last of his tribe, temps. Henry
VI, having only two daughters, that became his heirs, who
were married to Bonython, of Carclew, and Noy. To Noy's
share fell this tenement of Pendrea, which was the dwelling of
him and his posterity for several descents ; and here was born, as

I was informed, William Noy, the Attorney General to Charles
I, who designed to have built a noteable house here, but was
prevented by death, having before brought great quantities of
materials to this place in order thereto. His grandson, William
Noy, Esq., sold this place, and several others, to my very kind
friend Christopher Davies, gent., now in possession thereof."

Baranhual, at one time the residence of the Penders, came
from them to the Noyes, and was sold by the Noyes to the
Davises. Here was to be seen, until recently, a small room
encrusted with shells, which was said to be the work of some
ladies of the Davies family. The design of the work was Charles

II shown flying from his enemies, and one of them, in full
pursuit, had the legend, " This is the heir, come let us kill him,
that the inheritance may be our own," whilst an angel calls
from a cloud, "Is it not written thou shalt do no murder?"
The materials of this work are principally shells from Parcurnow.
In 1 750 Davies sold Baranhual, and some other farms, to Admiral
Boscawen, in whose family it still remains.

Pendrea, and much other property in Buryan, belong to the
Eev. John Tonkin, of Trevedern.

THE DANES LANDING ON THE CORNISH COAST FOR
PLUNDER. Pages 127 — 141.

Then his cruisings o'er the seas,
Westward to the Herbrides,

And to Scilly's rocky shore ;
And the hermit's cavern dismal,
Christ's great name and rites baptismal,

In the ocean's rush and roar.

LONGFELLOW.

We find^an interesting notice of Danish marauding expedi-

KING OLAF'S COJTVERSION AT SCILLY. 275

tions in Cornwall, and of King Olaf's conversion at Scilly, in
Snorro Sturleson's " Heimskringla " — the "World's Circle" —
which relates events from the early ages, when mythology and
history were undistinguishably blended, down nearly to the
period of Sturleson's birth in 1178.

The following is from Laing's translation of the "Saga," or
story of King Olaf Tryggvesson, who reigned from about the
year 995 to the year 1000.

" Thereafter Olaf Tryggvesson sailed to England, and ravaged
wide around the land. He sailed all the way north to Nor-
thumberland, where he plundered ; and thence to Scotland, where
he marauded far and wide. Then he went to the Hebrides,
where he fought some battles ; and then southward to Man,
where he also fought. He ravaged far around in Ireland, and
thence steered to Bretland, which he laid waste with fire and
sword, and also the district called Cumberland. He sailed
westward from thence to Yalland and marauded there. When
he left the west, intending to sail to England, he came to
the islands called the Scilly Isles, lying westward from
England in the ocean. Thus tells Halfred Vandrsedaskalt of
these events : —

" The brave young king who ne'er retreats,
The Englishmen in England beats.
Death through Northumberland is spread
From battle-axe and broad spear-head.
Through Scotland with his spear he rides ;
To Man his glancing ships he guides ;
Feeding the wolves where'er he came,
The young king drove a bloody game. ' . . •
The gallant bowman in the isles
Slew foemen, who lay heaped in piles.
The Iri-sh fled at Olaf's name —
Fled from a young king seeking fame.
In Bretland, and in Kauraland,
People against him could not stand :
Thick on the field their corpses lay,
To ravens and howling wolves a prey."

Olaf Tryggvesson had been four years on this cruise, from
the time he left Yendland till he came to the Scilly Isles.

While Olaf Tryggvesson lay in the Scilly Isles he heard of a
seer, or fortune-teller, on the islands, who could tell beforehand
things not yet done, and what he foretpld many believed was
really fulfilled. Olaf became curious to try this man's gift of
prophecy. He therefore sent one of his men, who was the
handsomest and the strongest, clothed him magnificently, and
bade him say he was the king ; for Olaf was known in all
countries as handsomer, stronger, and braver than all others,

276 NOTES, ILLUSTRATIVE ANECDOTES, ETC.

although, after he had left Russia, he retained no more of his
name than that he was called Ola, and was Russian. Now when
the messenger came to the fortune-teller, and gave himself out
for the king, he got the answer. " Thou art not the king, but
I advise thee to be faithful to thy king." And more he would
not say to that man. The man returned, and told Olaf, and his
desire to meet the fortune-teller was increased ; and now he had
no doubt of his being really a fortune-teller. Olaf repaired
himself to him, and, entering into conversation, asked him if he
could foresee how it would go with him with regard to his kingdom,
or of any other fortune he was to have. The hermit replies in
a holy spirit of prophecy, " Thou wilt become a renowned king,
and do celebrated deeds. Many men wilt thou bring to faith
and baptism, and both to thy own and others' good ; and that thou
mayest have no doubt of the truth of this answer listen to these
tokens : When thou comest to thy ships many of thy people will
conspire against thee, and then a battle will follow in which
many of thy men will fall and thou wilt be wounded almost to
death, and carried upon a shield to thy ship ; yet, after seven
days, thou shalt be well of thy wounds, and immediately thou shalt
let thyself be baptised." Soon after Olaf went down to his ships,
where he met some mutineers and people who would destroy
him and his men. A fight took place, and the result was what
the hermit had predicted, that Olaf was wounded, and carried
upon a shield to his ship, and that his wound was healed in
seven days. Then Olaf perceived the man had spoken truth, —
that he was a true fortune-teller, and had the gift of prophecy.
Olaf went once more to the hermit, and asked particularly how
he came to have such wisdom in foreseeing things to be. The
hermit replied that the Christian's God himself let him know
all that he desired ; and he brought before Olaf many great
proofs of the power of the Almighty. In consequence of this
encouragement Olaf agreed to let himself be baptised, and he
and all his followers were baptised forthwith. He remained
here a long time, took the true faith, and got with him priests
and other learned men."

It is worthy of remark that various accounts in this work, of
the marauding expeditions of northern vikings on the shores of
Bretland and Kauraland (Wales and Cornwall) confirm many
traditions still lingering in the West Country, about the Danes,
(all Northmen were called Danes) lauding on Gwenvor Sands,
burning Escols, their defeat in a battle on Velandruchar Moor,
and how their ships remained in Whitsand Bay till "birds
built in their rigging," &c.

Red-haired families are still often taunted with bearing on
their heads a sign that some ancestress must have welcomed a

ST. LE VAN'S PATH. 277

northern pirate to Kauraland with more warmth than dis-
cretion.

The "seer," or ''fortune-teller," on the islands, was probably
one of a similar class to the Cornish "pellar," or "white-
wizzard," of the present day.

King Olaf's priest, taken from Scilly, is one of the most
remarkable characters of the wonderful book.

ST. LEVANT'S PATH. Page 146.

" Aux lieux oft la charretto et le saint ont passes,
Le froment pousse encor plus vert et plus presse."

BltlZEUX.

We find a similar belief to that connected with the path St.
Levan trod, in the Breton legend of St. Comely, from which the
above lines are quoted. "La Charrette" was the cart — drawn
by oxen — in which the saint rode when he and his people were
pursued by an invading host of pagans. St. Comely, being hard
pressed, to prevent the Bretons being driven into the sea, turned
about, cursed the pursuers, and changed them all — in rank and
file as they stood — into the Menheers of Carnac.

The remarkable correspondence of beliefs, customs, names of
places, &c., in the Armorican Cornouaile, with those of West
Cornwall, would seem to show that the former was either
colonised from hence or that many found an asylum there in
some invasion of this district.

The story of Tom of Chyannor is well known there ; a
translation of the Armorican version was given in one of the
early numbers of Chamber a* s Journal as a Breton legend.

A GHOSTLY SHIP'S-BELL.

In the southern side of St. Levan Churchyard there is a low
altar-tomb on the grave of Captain Wetherel, whose ship sprung
a-leak and sunk, and who was drowned near the Bundle Stone
many years ago. This grave is regarded with fear and wonder
by many persons of that neighbourhood ; for ever since the
Captain was laid there, it has been believed that a ghostly bell,
strikes the hours, and half-hours, in his grave, the same as on
board ship.

'Tis said this sound beneath the sod may be heard the clearest
by persons passing the Churchyard at midnight. It was a few
minutes before that hour, when the Captain, finding his vessel
sinking, made his crew take to the boat ; but he himself refused
to quit his ship ; and, as she went down, they heard him give
eight loud and distinct strokes on the bell.

x

278 NOTES, ILLUSTRATIVE ANECDOTES, ETC.

Many years since several young people were assembled in the
Churchyard one Sunday forenoon, after service had commenced
and the elders had gone into Church; time passed pleasantly
with the young folks in chatting about such occurrences of the
St. Levan world as interested them. In rambling among the
graves, to look at the many garden flowers that bloomed on
them, they approached Captain Wetherel's tomb, and a girl who
stood by it reading the inscription, started back on hearing a
hollow sound beneath her feet ; she, and others near her, who
saw her emotion, listened, and lo ! a ringing came up as of a
bell at sea ; all rushed into Church in great fright. There
was much talk of the strange occurrence for a few weeks, and
less loitering of the youngsters to gossip in the Churchyard
during service.

Shortly after a young sailor, belonging to St. Levan, who had
been absent many years, came home for a few weeks ; being in
the "Elder Tree" public-house, one forenoon, with some of his
former companions, their discourse led to the mention of the
ship's-bell sounding in Captain Wetherel's grave. The young
seaman said he believed the story was all nonsense, though as
strange or stranger things sometimes happened in old vessels ;
but, as it was then near upon twelve o'clock, for curiosity sake, he
went out and stood near the Captain's tomb ; whilst his comrades
remained by the Church porch, for a few minutes, watching the
Bun-dial. As it marked noon the sailor rushed back to his com-
panions, and, looking as pale as a corpse, said, with bated
breath, " True as I'm alive, I heard 'eight bells' struck in the
grave, and wouldn't go near the spot again for the world."

The young seaman, on his next voyage, found his grave in
the deep.

I never heard of any other person who went purposely to hear
the Captain's bell, for it is a general belief here that bad luck is
sure to overtake those who endeavour to pry into ghostly doings
that don't concern them. Although the belief still holds, yet
most West Country folks are become shy of mentioning Captain
Wetherel's bell," or of talking on kindred subjects, except
amongst ourselves, from the ridicule with which it is now
fashionable to treat such matters, even in St. Levan.

BBEA AND PENDEEN, IN ST. JUST. Pages 42, 166, and 200.

" Brea, at present, retains no traces of its former consequence,
which may be assumed from its chapel, noticed in a former page.

The family of Bray, or Brea, came with the Conqueror. In
the 3rd Henry IV., A.D. 1402, Michael de Bray held two parts
of one Knight's fee, in Bray, in Penwith, and in the 12th Edw.

BRBA AND PENDEEN, IN ST. JUST. 279

I., Brea, or Bray, is charged by the Justices' Itinerant for eight
acres. Edward Bray was summoned to Parliament, 3rd
November, 1529, by the style and title of Baron Bray, which
honour expired on the death of John, the second Lord, 18th
November, 1557. This property now belongs to the Ellis family.
It appears from an inscribed stone, over one of the chimneys,
that the present house was built by Charles Ellis, 1634. A
former member of that family, who lived there, was a Quaker,
and is said to have been an eccentric character. He enclosed a
burying ground not far from his house, and was there interred,
and has a granite tomb erected over his remains.

Pendeen is the house of most importance in this parish, it has
long been the property, and sometimes the residence, of different
branches of the old and highly respectable family of Borlase.
The Rev. Dr. William Borlase, the celebrated antiquary and
historian of hisown county, who, by his elaborate work, has raised

to his own memory an enduring monument, was born here.
* * * # * * *

The mansion itself, though now only used as a farm house,
and occupied by labourers, retains much of its ancient respect-
ability of appearance. The masonry is of good wrought granite,
and the chimneys are tastefully built ; it bears the date of 1670,
and is a structure superior to the other houses of the same age
in the neighbourhood."

REV. JOHN BULLEE, L.L.B.

The learned antiquary, -who was born and who resided at
Pendeen for a considerable time, is well represented by William
Copeland Borlase, Esq., the author of " Nsenia Cornubice,"
recently published.

THE BURNING OF VELLAN-DREATH. Page 215.

It is said that in Queen Elizabeth's reign the Spaniards,
did much mischief by pillaging defenceless places on the
western shores. About the time they burnt Moushal, an old
miller and his son, a stout man, were the only dwellers in Vellan-
Dreath. Early one morning, the miller, on returning from the
mill-pool, which was far up on the hill, whither he had been to
lift the flushet, noticed a boat with several men put off from a
ship, and he watched them till they landed just beneath his mill.
Suspecting they were bent on mischief he went in and barricaded
his door ; unfortunately the miller had no lead, but he put the
muzzle of his musket through the latch-hole, which was
probably larger than required to admit a finger to lift the latch.
Meanwhile his son watched the invaders approach from a gable-
end loop-hole which served as a window to the mill-bed.

280 NOTES, ILLUSTRATIVE ANECDOTES, ETC.

The water had not yet been turned on to the wheel ; some of
th^ "Spaniars," on coming round near the door, seeing the
miller's gun pointed at them as they came within range, turned,
tried to climb the mill-wheel and effect an entrance through the
low thatched roof. The old miller, who spied them through
crevices between the board of his door, guessing their intentions,
called to his son to turn the water on ; the launder flushet was
raised in an instant, and the wheel revolved ; one Spaniard was
drowned in the pul-rose (wheel-pit) and another killed in the
opening where the axle-tree worked.

The millers, seeing more invaders coming up the cliff, set fire
to a furse-rick near their door, and, each one taking on his back
a sack of flour, made good their retreat through the smoke,
without being perceived by the Spaniards till they were far up
the hill. The sacks of flour protected them pretty well from
stray shots, but the old miller, being hit in his knee with a
bullet had to drop his sack. They reached Escolls, however,
without farther harm, and the young man, on throwing down
his sack of flour, declared that it was pounds heavier, from the lead
lodged in it, than when he took it up. The Spaniards found
little in the mill of any value to them ; but they set fire to it, and
it was never rebuilt.

The site of Vellan-Dreath can scarcely be traced on account of
the blown sand having covered it over, and filled in the hollow
in the cliff where it stood. Many years ago one of the mill-
stones was found and taken to a smith's shop, in Mayon, or
Treeve, where it served to bind cart wheels on ; it remained near
the smithy door but a few years since, and it may be there still,
or not far from the spot. It is worth preserving, many would
come from far to see a mill-stone of Queen Elizabeth's time.

THE MEN-AN-TOL, CONSTANTINE TOLMEN, &c. Page 242.

"jD'un passe sans memoire incertaines reliques,
Myst^res d'un vieux monde en myst&res ecrits."

LAMAKTINE.

Mr. J. T. Blight, F.S.A., gives the following graphic descrip-
tion of various perforated stones in Cornwall, and elsewhere.

"In the western part of Cornwall there are several ancient
monuments known by the name of ' Holed Stones.' They con-
sist of thin slabs of Granite, each being pierced by a round hole,
generally near its centre. They vary in size and in form. That
near the Men-Scryfa in Madron, better known than others, is
placed between, or rather arranged triangularly with, two other
upright stones. Other holed stones which have hitherto been
noticed are not so accompanied. The late Mr. Buller, in his

HOLED STONES. 281

'Account of the Parish of St. Just,' describes some such stones
vrhich he found near Cam Kenidjac. One may still be seen in
the Vicarage grounds of St. Just ; and two others near Bolleit, in
St. Buryan.

The monument to which I would now more particularly call
attention is at Tolven Cross (Tolven is Cornish for Holed Stone),
in the parish of St. Constantino, a few yards west of the road
from Grweek to the Helston and Falmouth turnpike. Dr.
Borlase refers to a holed stone about a mile west of St. Constan-
tine Church. The subject of the present notice is twice that
distance from the Church ; it is therefore uncertain whether or
not the Doctor alludes to the same monument. It is the largest
' holed stone ' in Cornwall, being 8 feet 6 inches high by 8 feet
1 1 inches wide at the base, diminishing to a point at the summit ;
thus it is of a triangular form. Its average thickness is about
one foot ; but it is a little thicker at the bottom than at the top.
The hole, almost perfectly circular, is 17 inches in diameter.
Though within the slate district, the stone is of granite.

Formerly it was a conspicuous object by the way-side ; but
within the last 12 or 14 years a house has been built betwixt
it and the road. It now forms part of a garden hedge.

In a field adjoining the opposite side of the road, perhaps 18
yards from the stone, is a low irregular barrow,, about 20 yards
in diameter, and studded with small mounds.

Dr. Borlase has alluded to the superstitious practice of
drawing children through the Holed Stone at Madron, to
cure them of weakness or pains in the back — a practice still
observed at the Holed Stone at St. Constantine. I was told
that some remarkable cures had been effected there only a few
weeks since. The ceremony consists of passing the child nine
times through the hole, alternately from one side to the other ;
and it is essential to success that the operation should finish on
that side where there is a little grassy mound, recently made, ori
which the patient must sleep, with a six-pence under his head.
A trough-like stone, called the ' cradle,' on the eastern side
of the barrow, was formerly used for this purpose. This stone,
unfortunately, has long been destroyed. That holed stones
were not originally constructed for the observance of this
peculiar custom is evident, for in some instances the holes are
not more than five or six inches in diameter.

A few years ago, a person digging close to the Tolven, dis-
covered a pit in which were fragments of pottery, arranged in
circular order, the whole being covered by a flat slab of stone.
Imagining that he had disturbed some mysterious place, with
commendable reverence he immediately filled up the pit again.
Taking the proximity of the barrow in connection with the pit,

282

NOTES. ILLUSTRATIVE ANECDOTES, ETC.

it seems most probable that the Tolven is a sepulchral monument,
stones of this kind being erected perhaps to a peculiar class of
personages.

It is well known that the Circle is an ancient symbol of
eternity, and it was sometimes adopted as typical of Deity itself.
The triangular form of the stone may not be accidental. The
holed stones at Madron also form part of a triangular arrange-
ment. Whether a significant connection was intended in this
union of the circle and the triangle is perhaps worthy of con-
sideration. Though holed stones are sometimes found near what
are termed Druidic Circles, I perceive no traces of monuments
of that description near the Tolven. The holed stones at
Kenidjac, St. Just, are near ancient cicles ; and the two holed
stones at Bolleit are not more than 100 yards from the well-
known stone circle, called ' Dawns Myin.' "

THE GABRACK ZANS (HOLY ROCK.) 283

Within the memory of many persons now living, there was to
be seen, in the town-places of many western villages, an unhewn
table-like stone called the Garrack Zans. This stone was the
usual meeting place of the villagers, and regarded by them as
public property. Old residents in Escols have often told me of one
which stood near the middle of that hamlet on an open space where
a maypole was also erected. This Garrack Zans they described
as nearly round, about three feet high, and nine in diameter, with
a level top. A bonfire was made on it and danced around at Mid-
summer. When petty offences were committed by unknown persons,
those who wished to prove their innocence, and to discover the
guilty, were accustomed to light a furse-fire on the Garrack Zans ;
each person who assisted took a stick of fire from the pile, and
those who could extinguish the fire in their sticks, by spitting on
them, were deemed innocent ; if the injured handed a fire-stick
to any persons, who failed to do so, they were declared guilty.

Most evenings young persons, linked hand in hand, danced
around the Garrack Zans, and many old folks passed round it
nine times daily from some notion that it was lucky and good
against witchcraft.

The stone now known as Table-men was called the Garrack
Zans by old people of Sennen.

If our traditions may be relied on, there was also in Treen a "
large one, around which a market was held in days of yore, as
mentioned at page 77.

There was a Garrack Zans in Sowah only a few years since,
and one may still be seen in Eoskestal, St. Levan.

Nothing seems to be known respecting their original use ;
yet the significant name, and a belief — held by old folks at least
— that it is unlucky to remove them, denote that they were
regarded as sacred objects.

Venerated stones, known by the same name, were long
preserved in other villages until removed by strange owners and
occupiers, who are, for the most part, regardless of our ancient
monuments.

DIVINATION BY RUSHES AND IVY-LEAVES. Page 217.

Many persons, who were anxious to know their future fate with
regard to love and marriage, or for mere fun, were in the habit
of assembling, on twelfth night, in a farm house kitchen, which
had a large open fire-place — used for burning furse and turf.
A fire was laid that would make plenty of " timers " (embers)
and hot ashes, such being required for working the spells ; then
each person touched the " cravel " (mantle stone) with his or her
forehead, and departed in single file and silence, which was

284 NOTES, ILLUSTRATIVE ANECDOTES, ETC.

required to be observed, until, having gathered the rushes and
ivy-leaves, they returned and again touched the "cravel" with
their heads. The procession was often waylaid or followed by
some who tried to make the spell- workers break silence ; if any
of them spoke they had to return and again touch the " cravel."

Those who wished to know their own luck in love and
marriage, or that of different couples who were said to be sweet-
hearts, placed in the hot ashes and " umers" two pieces of rush
— named or intended for the respective parties ; — if both rushes
burnt kindly together, those they represented would be married.
As the pairs were consumed, united or parted, such would be the
course of their love. The one which burnt longest would outlive
the other. When it was decided who were to be married together
an ivy-leaf was cast into the fire, and the number of cracks it
made in burning told the years to pass before the couple would
be wed. Then two leaves for the wedded pair were buried in the
hot ashes, and the cracks they made showed how many children
the happy couple would be blessed with. Other presages, which
afforded much amusement, were drawn from the appearance and
behaviour of rushes and ivy-leaves — or lovers and married folks
— in their fiery bed.

Meanwhile old people — who in general were the most anxious
to know if they or others were destined to live or die during the
ensuing year — drew an ivy-leaf for each person, either named or
thought of, through a gold ring, and cast the leaves into a vessel
of spring water, which was placed on the hearth-stone and left
there over night. Next morning, the leaves that were found to
have turned black, or to be specked with red spots like blood,
showed that those for whom they were intended would be dead
ere next twelfth night. The blood spots betokened a violent end.

KECENT ILL-WISHING. Page 65.

The following case of an ill- wished woman, living in ,

was told me a few days since by one of her neighbours.

In the Autumn of 1870 a pilot, or one of a pilot's crew, that
my informant called a "hobbler," gained upwards of twenty
pounds for his share of the "hobble," or pilotage of a ship,
which was only one night's work.

Next morning, whilst the "hobbler" was in bed, his wife,
elated with her husband's good luck, stood outside her door when
the neighbouring women were passing by to the spring for
water, and she was saying to a number of them, who gathered
around her, how lucky it was that her husband had met with such
a good hobble, just in time for her to pay off old scores at the
shops, and to enable her to get a little comfortable winter's

RECENT IIX- WISHING. 285

clothing for her husband and children before cold weather
came. In her joy at the godsend, she continued a long time
detailing her plans for disposing of it to the best advantage, and
was about to go in as the women took up their pitchers, when
another hobbler's wife, who had been listening for some
time, turned round, in taking up her vessel of water, and said,
" Thee art ready to burst with pride because good luck es come
to thy door, but I wish to God that thee may'st never be the
better for it."

Saying this she departed. The pilot's wife — a moment before
full of gladness — was now " struck all of a heap." Cold shivers
passed through her ; as she fell on the form she said that no
good would now come to her from the begrudged money, and
that the ill- wish had taken effect.

From that day to this she has never been like the same
woman ; she has lost all heart to struggle for her family ; when
her husband is at sea she fears he will no more return, and believes
something evil is constantly hanging over her head. Yet she can't
be said to have any known bodily ailment ; the doctor told her he
didn't know what to give her, nor what could be amiss with her,
unless she was bewitched, so my informant said. She had also
sought aid of the pellar, or white wizzard, who visits the district
at stated times, and even he had to give her up.

In answer to my inquiry if the woman that ill-wished the
hobbler's wife was a witch, she replied, " No, not that the
neighbours knew of, and they supposed she didn't altogether
mean to do the harm she did, but it so happened that the bad
words passed her lips at the fatal minute when ill-wishes won't
fall to the ground ; some call her a witch now, but they don't
think her one — she's too big a fool."

After a pause, as if to settle the matter, she added, " No, on
the whole, I don't think she's anything better or worse than the
general run of women ; I have known her all my life time ; she
was a ' professor ' for years ; we used to meet in the same class
till she got married, when she left off, because she couldn't
afford then, with a family coming quick, to pay class-money
every week, ticket-money and preacher 's-money every quarter,
and give to all the collections, as et es expected of members,
however poor they may be, it was busy all to make both
ends meet. No more could she then spare time to go to
preaching, or other means of grace, every night in the week,
like she did in her courting days ; besides she was a very wicked
talking woman, and said worse than she meant. She would rap
out an oath like nothing — it eased her mind she said — if any-
body ' thurted ' (crossed) her. Like other backsliders she was
worse than anyone that had always been ' carnal-minded. '^ Class-

286 NOTES, ILLUSTRATIVE ANECDOTES, ETC.

leaders, and others of 'the people,' tried all they could do, by
talking to her, to get her in the right way again; when her
husband was in good getting they even prayed for her in the
meetings, and it made her worse than ever to be told that. She
said, in her sinful way, they had better leave her alone, for she
knew they were no better than a set of ' duffans,' and backbiting
and undermining hypocrites ; that all they wanted of her was
money, money all the time, and if one hadn't plenty of that for
them, they wouldn't so much as dip the tip of their finger in
water to save a poor soul from perishing. Pinching hard times
made her spiteful, for there's nothing so bad as poverty to make
one feel ugly. As for the poor ill-wished woman, she never had
half enough of the Old One in her to help her stand up in her
own defence."

We give another out of many recent instances of ill- wishing.
The other day a small farmer, living in the higher side of
Madron parish, came in to a surgeon, in this town, and told him
that his wife was very bad in bed, and that neither he nor any
of the neighbours could make out what was amiss with her
unless she was ill-wished by a woman, who lived on the downs
near his dwelling, or else ' overlooked ' by her evil eyes.

His wife objected to borrow or lend with her — above all to
lend. "And good reason why," said the man, "for she never
paid what she borrowed. A month or so ago she wanted six-pence
of my woman to clear scores with a ' Johnny-fortnight,' (pack-
man), my wife refused her ; on leaving our door she scraped her
feet on the ' drussel,' then turned round, shaked her finger at my
wife, and said, ' See if I don't make thee wish, the longest day
thee hast got to live, that thee had'st never denied me any-
thing.' "

' ' My poor dear had to take to her bed next day, and she han't
been much out of it since. Do come and see her as quick as you
can."

In answer to the surgeon's questions, the farmer told him she
wasn't what one could call heart sick ; but there was no "sprowl"
(energy) in her; and her bowels were never in a right state.
The surgeon gave him medicine for his wife, and promised to
see her shortly. A few days after, having to visit a patient who
lived near the ailing farmer's wife, he called to see her also.
The husband, who was in "great stroath, and all of a stroll,"
molly-caudling about the household work, told the doctor that
his wife was still in bed, no better for the medicine that he could
see, and showed him up stairs to her room, where he found a
big fat woman, sleeping soundly; when awoke, she described
her ailment just as her husband had stated, dwelling much on
her bad appetite, the weakness she felt all over, and her having

MIDSUMMER BONFIRES. 287

no heart to do anything. The doctor noticed, all about the
chamber, a number of bottles and tea-cups, with the remains of
all sorts of cordials and caudles in them, which showed that she
had been nursed to the surfeiting point. Having felt her pulse,
examined her tongue, and gone through all the ceremonies usual
on such occasions, he shook his head and left the room, followed
by the husband, who, with a long face, begged that he might be
told the worst. "Now don't 'e be afraid to tell me," said he,
" for if there is no hopes I can bear to hear it ; thank goodness
I have done all in my power for her, poor dear, and have nothing
on my mind to answer for." " Her best chance of being cured
depends upon you, I think," said the doctor, with a serious face,
"if you can make up your mind to undertake a difficult job."
" Oh, do tell me what I shall do," replied the man, " and I will
go through fire and water for her, the dear." " That's all very
easy to say," rejoined the doctor, " but it will require all your
strength and courage. If you have a wheelbarrow about the
place, bring it in, put your wife into it, and trundle her out into
the middle of the largest field or croft hereabouts, there leave her,
and if she won't come in let her stay there until she's tired ; there's
no more amiss with your wife than there is with me, except
laziness and a diseased fancy, that you have made worse by in-
dulging her whims ; you should have been out in the fields
about your work, and have left her to do without her caudles till
she rose and cooked them."

We don't know how the farmer proceeded to execute the
doctor's advice, but next market day he called in, thanked him
for his hint, said his wife was then doing her work, and as well
as ever she- was in her life. " But you had better not venture to
see her again soon," said he, "for I believe she would as lieve
meet the Old One as you for a bit."

Almost every day one may hear of similar cases which show
the power of superstitious fears over weak minds.

MIDSUMMER BONFIRES.

Our bonfires, torches, and tar-barrels, with the peculiar hand-
in-hand dance around the blazing piles, remind us of ancient
times when similar customs were regarded as sacred rites by our
forefathers ; and it would seem as if some vestiges of these time-
honoured religious notions were still connected with Midsummer
bonfires in the minds of old-fashioned people, living in remote
and primitive districts, where they still believe that dancing in a
ring over the embers, around a bonfire, or leaping (singly)
through its flames, is calculated to insure good luck to the per-
formers and to serve as a protection from witchcraft and other
malign influences during the ensuing year.

288 NOTES, ILLUSTRATIVE ANECDOTES, ETC.

Many years ago, on Midsummer's eve, when it became dusk,
very old people in the West Country would hobble away to some
high ground, whence they obtained a view of the most prominent
hills, such as Bartinney, Chapel Carn-brea, Sancras Bickan,
Castle-an-Dinas, Cam Galver, St. Agnes Bickan, and many
other beacon hills far away to north and east, which vied with
each other in their Midsummer's blaze. They counted the fires
and drew a presage from the number of them. There are now
but few bonfires to be seen on the western heights ; yet we have
observed that Tregonan, Godolphin, and Cam Marth hills, with
others away towards Redruth, still retain their Baal fires We
would gladly go many miles to see the wierd-looking, yet
picturesque, dancers around the flames on a earn, or high hill
top, as we have seen them some forty years ago.

We are sorry to find that another pleasing Midsummer's
observance, which also apears to be ancient, has almost died out.
Yet within the memory of many, who would not like to be called
old or even aged, on a Midsummer's eve, long before sun sot,
groups of girls — both gentle and simple — of from ten to twenty
years of age, neatly dressed and decked with garlands, wreaths,
or chaplets of flowers, would be seen dancing in the streets.

One favourite mode of adornment was to sew, or pin, on the
skirt of a white dress, rows of laurel-leaves, often spangled with
gold leaf. Before Midsummer small wooden hoops were in great
demand to be wreathed with green boughs and flowers for
garlands, to-be worn over one shoulder and under the opposite
arm. Towards sunset groups of graceful damsels, joined by
their brothers, friends, or lovers, would be seen " threading-the-
needle," playing at "kiss-in-the-ring," or simply dancing along
every here and there from Chyandour to Alverton, from the
Quay to Caunsehead, as the upper part of the town used then to
be called, perhaps with more propriety than Causewayhead.

THE MERMAID OF ZENNOR.

Zennor folks tell the following story, which, according to
them, accounts for a singular carving on a bench-end in their
Church.

Hundreds of years ago a very beautiful and richly attired lady
attended service in Zennor Church occasionally — now and then
ehe went to Morvah also ; — her visits were by no means
regular, — often long intervals would elapse between them.

Yet whenever she came the people were enchanted with her
good looks and sweet singing. Although Zennor folks were
remarkable for their fine psalmody, she excelled them all ; and
they wondered how, after the scores of years that they had seen

THE MEKMAID OF ZENNOR. 289

her, she continued to look so young and fair. No one knew
whence she came nor whither she went ; yet many watched her
as far as they could see from Tregarthen Hill.

She took some notice of a fine young man, called Mathey
Trewella, who was the best singer in the parish. He once
followed her, but he never returned ; after that she was never
more seen in Zennor Church, and it might not have been known
to this day who or what she was but for the merest accident.

One Sunday morning a vessel cast anchor about a mile from
Pendower Cove ; soon after a mermaid came close alongside and
hailed the ship. Rising out of the water as far as her waist,
with her yellow hair floating around her, she told the captain
that she was returning from church, and requested him to trip
his anchor just for a minute, as the fluke of it rested on the door
of her dwelling, and she was anxious to get in to her children.

Others say that while she was out on the ocean a-fishing of a
Sunday morning, the anchor was dropped on the trap-door which
gave access to her submarine abode. Finding, on her return,
how she was hindered from opening her door, she begged the
captain to have the anchor raised that she might enter her
dwelling to dress her children and be ready in time for church.

However it may be, her polite request had a magical effect
upon the sailors, for they immediately "worked with a will,"
hove anchor and set sail, not wishing to remain a moment
longer than they could help near her habitation. Sea-faring men,
who understood most about mermaids, regarded their appearance
as a token that bad luck was near at hand. It was believed
they could take such shapes as suited their purpose, and that
they had often allured men to live with them.

When Zennor folks learnt that a mermaid dwelt near Pen-
dower, and what she had told the captain, they concluded it was
this sea-lady who had visited their church, and enticed Trewella
to her abode. To commemorate these somewhat unusual events
they had the figure she bore — when in her ocean-home — carv-ed
in holy-oak, which may still be seen.

GLOSSARY OF LOCAL WORDS.

A or AH, he or it, e.g. a es, it is.

AFTER-WENDING, waste corn.

As', aunt, an expression of regard
applied to aged women.

AKREAH ! (Maria ?) an exclamation
of angry surprise.

ARISH, stubble.

BAL, a mine.

BANNAL, broom plant.

BOWJEY, sheepfold, &c., on cliff or
downs.

BRAVE, much, -very well, &c.

BRUYANS, crumbs.

BUCCA, a spirit.

BUCCA-BOO (-DHU) a black spirit.

BULHORN, a large shell-snail.

BUSSA, an earthen crock.

BUSY (to be), to require ; e.g. it is
BUSY all, it requires all.

CAUNSE, pavement.

GAYER, a coarse sieve for winnowing

CHEE-AH ! word used for calling
swine.

CHEELD-VEAN (little child), a term
of endearment.

CHILL, an iron lamp.

CLIFF, all the ground between the

shore and cultivated land. The

cliff proper, or precipice, is called

_the edge of the cliff; the cleeves,

"or the earns.

CLUNK, to swallow.

COSTAN, a basket made of straw and
brambles.

COURANT, romping plajr.

COURSEY, to linger gossiping.

COWAL, a large fish-basket.

GRAVEL, mantel-stone.

GRELLAS, the ruins of ancient bee-
hive huts ; an excavation in a
bank, roofed over to serve for an
outhouse, &c.

CROGGAN, a limpet shell.

CRONACK, a toad.

CROUD, the rind of a sieve covered
with sheepskin, used for taking
up corn, &c. ; also an old fiddle.

CRUM, crooked.

CROUST, afternoons' refreshment of
bread and beer in harvest time.

CROW, a small outhouse.

DIDJAN, a little bit.

DLTEY, a very small homestead.

DOWER, water.

DRUCKSHAR, a small solid wheel.

DUFFAJT, a nickname for one much
given to self laudation ; usually
bestowed on a bouncing religion-
ist who is powerful in speech, and
strong in faith, but no better than
ordinary mortals in works.

DUFFY, a forthright, blunt happy-
go-lucky person.

DUMBLEDORE, large black-beetle.

'E, ye or you.

FAIX! faith.

FLUSHET, a flood-gate.

FUGGAN, a small unleavened cake.

FUGGO, an artificial cave.

GADGE-VRAWS, the ox-eye daisy.

GARD, soil used for scouring.

GARRACK, a rock.

GLOWS, dried cow-dung used for
fuel.

GRAMBLER, a stony place.

GRIGLANS, heath.

GRUIT, fine soil.

GUARE, play, called out by boys
when they throw quoits cast a
ball, &c.

GUISE-DANCE, Christmas mummery.

GULTHISE (in Scilly niclethies), har-
vest-home feast.

GURGOES, the ruins of ancient fen-
ces found on waste land.

GWEEAN, a periwinkle.

HILLA, the nightmare.

HOGGAN, a "fuggan" with meat
baked on it ; the fruit of haw-
thorns.

KEGGAS, rank wild plants, such as
water-hemlock, elecampane, &c.

KEBBAL, a bucket used at a draw-
well or mine shaft.

KISKEYS, the dried-up stalks of

KNACKERS (knockers), spirits in the

mines.

KEUNEY, moss, lichen, &c.
LAISTER, the yellow water-iris.
LEW, sheltered from wind.
LEVTH, shelter.

292

GLOSSAEY OF LOCAL WORDS.

MABYER, a young hen.

MIRYON, an ant.

MOAK, the root ; to produce roots.

MOOR-WORK, tin-streaming.

MORABS, land near the sea.

NACKAN, a kerchief.

OAR-WEED, sea-weed.

ORGAN, pennyroyal.

PADZEPAW, a newt.

PAR, cove ; the word porth is never

used hy the natives of "West

Cornwall, nor does it ever occur

in family names.
PEETH, a draw-well.
PIGGAL, a kind of large hoe used

for cutting turf, &c.
PILF, woolly dust.
PILJACK, a poor scurvy fellow.
PISKEY, a mischievous fairy that

delights to lead people astray ;

also a greenish bug, found on

blackberries.
PITCH-TO, to set to work with good

heart.

PLUM, soft, light.
PORVAN, a rush lamp wick.
PRUIT ! a word used for calling cows
PUL, mire, mud.
PULAN, a small pool, such as is left

by ebb tide.
PUL-CRONACK, a small toad-like fish,

found in "pulans."
QUALK, a heavy fall.
QUILKAN, a frog.
QUILLET, a small field.
REEN, a steep hill side.
ROSE, low lying level ground, moor-
land, &c.

RULLS, rolls of carded wool.

SEW (gone to), dried up.

SK.AW, the elder tree.

SKAW-DOWER, fig wort.

SKEDGEWITH, privet.

SMALL-PEOPLE, fairies.

SOAS, sose, forsooth.

SPANISH DUMBLEDORE, the cock-
chaffer.

SPRIGGAN, sprite, fairy.

SPROWL, life, energy.

STHOATH, more haste than good
speed.

STROLL, an untidy mess.

TALFAT, a boarded floor, for a bed-
place, over one end of a cottage.

THRESHAL, a flail.

TOWSAR, a large apron or wrapper.

TUBBAN, a clod of earth.

TUBBLE, a mattock.

TUMMALS, quantity.

TUNGTAVUS, a tattling fool.

TUNTRY, the pole by which oxen
draw a wain, cart, &c.

TURN, a spinning wheel.

UNCLE, a term of regard given to an
old man.

YEAN, little.

VINED, mouldy.

VISGEY, a pick-axe.

VISNAN, the sand launce.

Vow, a cavern or "fuggo."

VUG, a cavity in a lode or rock.

WIDDEN, small.

WIDDENS, small fields.

WISHT, sad, like a person or thing
illwisht.

ZAWN, (pro SOWN) a cavern in a cliff
A short time ago, two gentlemen of Penzance walked over to Chysauster,
the higher side of Gulval, on a Sunday morning, to inspect the hut-circles,
caves, and other remains of what are supposed to have been ancient British
habitations. After a fruitless search, the gentlemen returned towards Chy-
sauster to see if they could meet with anyone to inform them where the
objects they were in quest of might be found. In the lane they overtook a
woman and asked her if she knew of any caves thereabout ? " Caaves ! no,
I don't — not fit for butchers," she replied, " but if you want any for rearan
I think I can tell 'e where there es some to be found ; now I look at 'e agen
you don't seem much like butchers nether, nor you arn't none of our farmers
about here ether ! Where are 'e coman from at all ? Looking for caaves of
a Sunday mornan ! You are very much in want of them I s'pose." The
gentlemen explained that they neither wanted calves for rearing nor killing,
but to find the ancient ruins. " Oh Lord," said she, " you're lookan for the
old crellas, and things up in the hill ! Why dedn't 'e say so than, that one
might know what you meant, instead of givan such outlandish names to
things. But come 'e along with me, and I'll show "e," continued she in
turning back and leading the way.

INDEX,

PAGE

Ancient Bridal Customs .... 237

Coins found at Castle

Maen 127

— — Mariners' Stories .... 149

A night's ride to Scilly 233

Ballowal, the knockers of

(fairytale) 185

Baranhuel, a Queen's visit to 67

fairies' cow 73

shell room 72, 274

Beatrice I' an, or Ivan 104

her death 118

Betty Stoggs's haby (fairy tale) 205

Bevan, the Rev. James 197

Bewitching a dairy 65

Bob 'o the Cam (fairy tale) . . 173
Boleit, ancient monuments of 29
Books popular in the West

Country a century ago . . 197

Boscawen un circle 34

Boskenna 36

Boslow, the Piskey of 158

Brea, or Bray 42, 200, 278

Brea-Vean, the Changeling of

(fairy tale) 200

Breage, St., visits her brother,

St. Levan 145

Bridal customs, ancient, still in

vogue 237

Buccaneering 45

Bucka, offerings to 187, 246

Buryan fair 39

Sanctuary, men of. ... 269

wise-woman or fortune-
teller of 47

Calling of the cleeves 216

Cardews of Boskenna, the last

of 38

Castle Treen, traditions of, 130, 138

Maen, or Men 127

Changeling of Brea-Vean .... 200

- how to get rid of one 202

Chapel UnyWell 199

Charms . . .' 243

Chyannor, Tom of, the tin-
streamer 72

Chynance 116

PAOB
Clarice de Boleit, inscription

on her tomb 29

Conjurors, pellars, or wise-men

20, 76 276
Crick-stone, the, or Men-an-tol 242

Cursing Psalm, the 229, 231

Danes, traditions of their in-
cursions ^.127, 141, 274

Daunce-Mayn 33

Death-ship, the 248

Demon, a, spinning 5

Den-an-Dynas, the giant and

his wife 137

Devil's money 227

Divination 131, 217, 245, 283

Doctresses of the West Country 49
Duffy and a Devil, an old

guise-dance 1

Enchanter, the, of Pengersec 263

of Maen and a thief

265, 267

Escols, a strong man of 31

• weavers of 196

Faction fight in Buryan Church-
town 215

Fairy dwelling on Selena Moor 94

fair , 161

master, the . . 173

tales. . . .73, 94, 102. 154,

168, 173, 185, 200
Fairies, how they may be drive

away 75

old folks' notions

respecting 101, 245

Flowers, planting on graves, an
old West Country custom 114

Fortune-tellers 49, 276

Garrack-zans 77, 150

Ghost stories .. 122, 152, 217, 230

laying 124

Ghostly ship's-bell, a 277

Giants of Castle Treen .. 131, 137

Goblins of the Mines 187

Guise-dances, how performed 2

Gulthise (harvest feast) 95

Gwinear, the slighted damsel
of 229

294

INDEX.

PAGE

Haunted houses 122, 212

Hella-point, mermaids of .... 151

Hell-hounds ' 66

Heimskringla, the, of Snorri
Surlusson, account in of
Northmen marauding Corn-
wall, &c 274

Hilla-ridden 236

Holed stones 31,242,280

Hooper of Cowloe, the 247

Hostess, the, of Market-jew . . 82

Hurling 24

Husbandry, old 195

I'ans, their house in Treen .... 103

ghosts of 122

a Breton descendant of . . 126

Ill-wishing 63, 65, 285, 286

Ivy-leaves and rushes, divina-
tion by 217, 283

Johanna, the foolish, her

garden 1*6

. rebukes St. Levan for

fishing on a Sunday 148

Just, St., feast of 154, 170

Kaerkeis bowjey 127

Key, the, of Castle Treen .... 130
Knackers of Ballowal (fairy

tale) 185

Levan, St., legends of 145

stone = 147

his path 146, 272

witches 139

Long-stones, or Menheeres of

Boleit 30

. places named from

numerous 31

Lovell, Madam, her troubles . . 21

or Levelis, family of . . 271

Loyal hearts of Buryan 69

Madron well and chapel .... 239
Marriage usages, ancient. .237, 239

Mayor of Market-jew, a 83

Merchants of Treen, the .... 81

Merlin's prophesies 130, 147

Mermaid of Zennor, the .... 288

Midsummer bonfires 287

Miners' stories 187, 191

Miracle-plays, performed at

Sancreed 269

Morvah man, a, shopping .... 207
Nelly Wearne, the story of . . 38

Nicknames 198

Night's ride, a, to Scilly 233

Noy, Mr. William, in a fairy
dwelling 97

PAGE
Noy, Madam, and the witch . . 63

family of 274

Olaf , the first Christian king of

Norway, his conversion at

Scilly 275

Parchapel well 148

Parcurnow, traditions of. 140

Pargwartha, legend of 149

Parish clerks sixty years ago 1 69

Pellars, or wise-men 76,191

Penance, doing in Buryan

Church 55

Penberth, a cottage dwelling at 1 1 1
Pendar, Madam, receiving a

Queen. 68

family of ..72, 95, 119, 223

Pendeenofold 166,279

Pengersec, legends of 25 1

the magician 264

Penrose, the smugglers of .... 212

family 223

Phantom lover, a, takes off his

afiianced 152

Piskey, how he left Boslow . . 168

led 160

threshing 159

Plan-an-guarre, St. Just .... 268
Polkinghorne, Parson, an ex-
orcist 125

Queen's, a, visit to Baranhuel 67
Robbers, the, and merchants of

Treen 87

Roskestal, Garrack-zans in 148, 151
Eosmoddrass, monuments of . . 27
Sanctuary men of Buryan .... 260
" Sancras," miracle-play at . . 269

Scilly, a night's ride to 233

visited by King Olaf 275

Selena Moor, a fairy dwelling

on 94

Shovel, Admiral Sir Cloudesly,

his wreck at Scilly 231

his grave 233

Slighted damsel, the, of Gwin-

ear 229

Small-people, see fairies.

Smugglers 57, 106

the, of Penrose 212

Spinning 5, 25, 105

Sweethearts' Cove, the ...... 149

Sun, the, never shines on a
person that has sworn way

alife 249

Tarraway, the spinning demon 1 6
Tinners' stories 185

INDEX.

295

PAGE

Tolmen of Constantine, the . . 280
Tom Trenoweth's bewitched
sow 61

of Chyannor, the tin-
streamer 77

1 — gets three pieces of
wisdom in lieu of wages.. 80

his welcome home.. 89

Tredrill, the changeling 201

Treen, a market town, in old
times 78

the I'an's house of. . . . 103

Dynas 127

Tregagle bound to Gwenvor . . 224

the roaring of 226

Uncle Will Ben's fiddle and

sayings 170

PAGE

Vellan Dreath, the burning of 279
Vow, the, of Pendeen .... 28, 167

spirit of the 167

"Weddings, old fashioned customs

at 237, 239

Wells, holy.. . . 128, 148, 239, 201
Wetherel, Capt., his grave and

ghostly ship's-bell 277

White hare, an injured woman's

spirit takes the form of a . . 253
Wise-woman, the, of Buryan

Church-town 47

Witches .... 12, 59, 63, 65, 75,

139, 255, 265

Zennor man's will, a 210

mermaid of . . . 288

SuBSCr\I_BEr\S' NAMES.

Akerman, H. J., Hanover Square,

London.

Astley, Rev. R., Per ran.
Bannister, Rev, John., LL.D., St.

Day, 2 copies.
Barham, C., M.D., Truro.
Barnicoat, Christopher, St. Levan.
Bate, C. Spence, F.R.S., Plymouth.
Batten, J. Hallet, F.R.G.S., Havi-

tree, Exeter.

Batten, John, Penzance.
Blackwell, H., ditto.
Bence, Rev. J. B., Cribbs Lodge,

near Bristol.
Berry, Rev. Aubrey, West Cowes,

Isle of Wight.

Blewett, J. P., Penzance, 2 copies.
Blight, John, F.S.A., ditto.
Blight Joseph, London.
Blight, Miss, ditto.
Boase, Francis, M.R.C.S.E., Pen-
zance.

Boase, J. J. A., Alverton.
Boase, Rev. Charles William, Exeter

College, Oxford.

Boase, George Clement, London.
Bolitho, William, Polwithan, 3

copies.

Bolitho, William, Ponsandane.
Bodilly, James Broad, M.R.C.S.E.,

Harrold, Beds.

Bodilly, Ralph H., Penzance.
Borlase, John, Castle Horneck.
Borlase, W. Copeland, F.S.A., ditto
Boyns, Edwin, Penzance.
Boyns, Nicholas, Bosanketh,Buryan
Boyns, Nicholas, Hendra, St. Just.
Brokenshire, Mrs, Withington, near

Manchester.
Brune, Charles G. Prideaux, Prid-

eaux Place, Padstow, 2 copies.
Bull, E., Telegraph Station, Porth-

curnow.
Buonaparte, His Imperial Highness

Prince Louis Lucien.
Carpenter, Mrs., Falmouth.
Cardew, Cornelius, Exeter.
Champion, James, C. and M. E.,

Nevada-county, California.
Child, Josiah, London.
Chirgwin, R. W. and Co., St. Just.

Code, Theophilus, Marazion.

Cock, William, Penzance.

Colenso, Richard, ditto.

" Cornish Telegraph " proprietors,
4 copies.

Cornish, Thomas, Penzance, 2 copies

Cornish, H. R., Trewey, Zennor.

Cornish, William, Penzance.

Cornish, Cyrus Henry, London.

Cornish, Thomas R., Buenos Ayres.

Cornish, John Hewett, Penzance.

Cornish, James Mitchell, ditto.

Cornish, Miss, ditto.

Coulson, William, late, Madron.

Coulson, James Bevan, Penzance.

Coulson, W. H., H.M.C., Liverpool.

Courtney, Leonard H., London, 2
copies.

Courtenay, James, Trevening House,
Bristol.

Crocker, Rev. James, Felsted, Essex

Crocker, F. H., Penzance.

Curgeven, J. Brendon, M.R.C.S.E.,
London.

Curnow, John, H.D., M.R.C.P.,
London.

Curnow, Stephen, St. Hillary.

Davies-Brown, Mrs. St. John's-
wood, London.

Davies, Rev. J. D., Llanmadoc
Sector y, near Swansea.

Davy, Edmund, Madron.

Delapierre, Octave, Belgian Consul-
General, London.

Douglass, James N., C.E., Trinity
House, London.

Douglass, William, C.E., Ceylon.

Dusting, Mrs. W., Penzance, 2
copies.

Drake, Rev. W. H., Halestown, $
copies.

Dunkin, Edwin, F.R.A.S., Black-
heath,

Ellis, C. A., Penzance.

Fisher, Charles, ditto.

Fisher, Edward, Ashby-de-la-Zouch

Farquharson, Mrs., Penzance.

Ford, J. W., Petrolia, 2 copies.

Foss, Thomas, C.E., Mexico.

Francis, James A., Penzance.

Francis, H., Charlestown, St. Austell

SUBSCRIBERS NAMES.

297

Freel, C., Penzance.

Gefiroi, H. M., School of Science
and Art, ditto.

Genn, J, H., Liverpool.

Gilbert, Hon. Mrs., Trelissick

Grenfell, William, Birmingham.

Grylls, Thomas, Penzance.

Harvey, William G., M.R.C.S.E.,
ditto, 3 copies.

Harvey, Miss, ditto.

Harvey, Joseph. H., ditto.

Harvey, James, ditto.

Harvey, Miss Ellen Davies, ditto.

Harvey, R. Trewavas, H.M.C.,
Liverpool.

Hattam, Thomas, St. Anthony Light-
house.

Hedgeland, Rev. Preh., Penzance.

Henwood, W. J., ditto, 2 copies.

Higgs, Samuel, jun., F.G.S., Wal-
laroo mines, Australia.

Hirst, John, Jun., Dobcross, Man-
chester.

Holmes, Robert, Penzance.

Hutchens, Thomas, Salisbury.

Hunt, Robert, F.G.S., Chelsea, 2
copies.

Jackson, Capt. P., Little Eppington,
Barnstaple.

James, J., Penzance.

James, J. H., ditto.

James, Hamilton, Truro.

James, S. H., Alma Villa, St. Just.

Jenkins, Isaac, London.

John, Miss, Penzance.

Kennedy, Patrick, Anglesea Street,
Dublin.

Kevern, J. T., Penzance, 2 copies.

King, Henry, H.M.C., ditto.

Kistler, Matthias, ditto.

Kneebone,W. E., Pensylva, Liskeard

Lanyon, J. J., Penzance.

Liebrecht, Dr. Felix, Liege.

Lovell, James, jun., Chyandour.

Luxmore, Capt Witherden, Devon.

Maclean, Sir John, F.S.A.,Pallmffs-
wick Lodge, Hammersmith.

Marrack, R. M., London.

Martin, Thomas, Exeter.

Mathews, Martin, Penzance.

Mathews, T., ditto.

Mathews, W., C.E., London.

Mauleverer, Miss, The Mall, Armagh

Milton, J. P., Penzance.

Michell, Stephen, ditto.

Mitchell, William, ditto.

Mfflett, J. N., ditto.
Montgomery, J. B., M.D., M.R.C.P.

ditto.
Morewood, R. D., Trinity House,

London.

Morgan, G. V., London.
Morris, George T., Bengal Staff

Corps.
Muller, Professor Max., Oxford, 2

copies.
Nance, Capt. Francis, St. Martint,

Scilly.
Napier, James, F.C.S., Camlachie,

Glasgow.

Nelson, Major-Gen., R.E., Devon-
port.
Nicholas, John, Gamberton, South

Australia.

Noy, William D., London.
Nunn, John, Euston Square, ditto .
Pascoe, J. R. Cardwell, late.H.M.C.,

Hayle.

Paul, Nicholas, Penzance.
Paull, Alexander, M.R.C.S.E.,

Truro.
Pearse, W. H., St. Paul's-road,

London.

Pease, William, jun., Loswithiel.
Pengelly, Mrs., Penzance.
Pentreath, Richard, H.M.C.,Lonrfon

2 copies.

Pentreath, Capt. Wm., Mousehole.
Pentreath, Capt. Edwin, Torpoint.
Pentreath, Rev. Edwyn Sandys,

New York.

Penzance Public Library.
Phillips, Henry L., London.
Pollard, James Glasson, Charlotte

Town, Michigan.
Pooley, Miss Annie, Penzance.
Quick, Richard, St. Ives.
Quick, Vivian, ditto.
Quick, William Bottrell, ditto.
Ralfs, John, M.R.C.S.E., Penzance,

2 copies.

Ransom, E., Kempstone, Bedford.
Rawlings, W. J., Downes, Hayle.
Read, John Herbert, California.
Richards, John, St. Buryan.
Rigby, Samuel, Warrington, 5

copies.

Rodd, E. H., Penzance.
Roscorla, John, ditto.
Rothschild, Baroness, M. de, 2

copies.
Sandys, William, F.S.A., London.

298

SUBSCRIBED' NAMES.

Sherriff, J. D., C.E., Truro.
Smith, Augustus, late, Tresco Abbey,

Stilly.

Spratt, G. E., Porthcurnow.
Tetley, Edward, Sydenham.
Thomas, Henry , Penzance.
Thomas, Henry, late,F.G. S., London
Thomas, Stephen^ School of Art,

Northampton.

Tipping, George B., London.
Tonkin, Charles, ditto.
Tonkin, Rev. John, Trevervyn,

Buryan.
Tredrea, E., Cape Town, South

Africa,
Trevithick, Francis, C.E., The Cliff,

Penzance.

Trounson, John, London.
Truran, J. Jameson, Gresham House

London.

Trythall, "W., Melbourne, Australia
Trythall, "William, Penzance.

Uren, J. G., Post-master, Penzance.
Van de Weyer, His Excellency,

M.S., London.
Victor, Henry R., Penzance.
Vingoe, John, Exeter.
Vingoe, W. H,, Penzance.
Vesper-Thomas, Samuel, Wimborne

Dorset.

Vosper-Thomas, M. G., ditto.
Wallis, William, Penzance.
Wathen, Hulbert, Himalaya.
Wellington Richard, ditto.
White, W. N., London.
Whitley, H. Michell, C.E., ditto.
Willan, L. R., M.D., M.R.C.P.,

Penzance.

Wildman, Albert C., ditto, 2 copies
Wildman, Henry, ditto.
Williams, Henry, ditto.
Williams, Ceipt.,Ding Dong, 2 copies
Williams, T., Trinity House, London

PENZANCE :
BEAUE AND SON, STEAM PRINTERS, BOOKBINDERS, ETC.

ERRATA.

Page 11, line 21, for flow read flour.

— 33, — 29, — king read kind.

— 38, — 25, — sevant read servant.

— 41, — 7, — candlelight read candlelighting.

— 45, — 23, — cairns read earns.

— 54, — 16, — the farming read farming.

— 57, — 1, read and they, with a crew of such

dare-devils as suited them, set sail,

— 63, — 13, for crops read cops.

- — 75, — 35, — shakened read shaken.

— 76, — 20, — a much read much.

— 92, — 21," — in read into,

— 106, — 1, — comrades read comrade.

— 114, • — 3, omit with. .

— 115, — 12, for such read much.

— 127, — 36, omit heap of.

— 196, — 15, for there read their.

— 213, — 45, — cairns read earns.

— 235, — 42, — stag read the stag.

— 235, — 24, — strait read straight.

— 265, — 26, — wisewom read wise-woman.

— 272, — 20, — with the read which.

— 273, — 1, — was read were.

— 273, — 11, — boat read coat.

— 273, — 16, — or read ar.

— 274, — 32, — Trevedern read Trevervy*.

— 274, — 37, — Herbrides read Hebrides.

— 275, — 2, — Snorro read Snorri.

3 1158 00038 1334

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